


Out of Place

by Le_Rouret



Category: Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mid-Canon, Past Rape/Non-con, Pity Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Slice of Life, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 15:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Rouret/pseuds/Le_Rouret
Summary: Take a knight from another country, a former slave without a country, and throw them together in the midst of an epic quest, and what do you get? Well, if you're a fanfic writer, sex, of course!I wrote this many, many years ago, and post it here (unedited) at the request of a reader. Sex, angst, and a very old fandom warnings.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zedille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zedille/gifts).



**1.**

 

 

The fire burned low in the grate, its orange embers speckled alternately with black and effervescent blue.  The scent of ash and hickory smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the warm, humid scent of oatmeal soap and walnut oil.  Mandorallen sat in a plush red dressing gown – borrowed, of course – his tired feet in soft slippers – again, borrowed, courtesy of King Cho-Hag – a nearly empty goblet of wine cradled negligently in his fingers, staring blankly at the inglenook. 

The big blue chair was deeply upholstered and soft, giving in to his curves and weight in just the right places, lending the feeling that he was floating – a feeling exacerbated somewhat by the combination of the hot bath he'd just enjoyed, and the heavy meal he'd just eaten, and the five glasses of strong red wine he'd managed somehow to ingest since arriving.  He heaved a sigh – not out of tedium, nor of melancholy, but of simple languor.  It was pleasant to feel his lungs swell and empty, pleasant to feel the warm subtle heat of the dying flames, pleasant to erase his mind of thoughts and concerns and worries, pleasant to finally let go this terrible tension he'd been carrying the past months during their pursuit of the Orb.  They were in Alorn lands, in the Stronghold, an impenetrable fortress, with the Orb:  No enemies could assail them, no worries beset them, in this safe and comfortable place.

Even the terrible niggling fear of the sorcerer Belgarath's illness had lifted with Lady Polgara's announcement that he was awake and on the mend.  Mandorallen sighed again, with relief this time.  He would have hated to have had anything happen to the great man – never mind the fact his power had held the enemies of the West at bay for millennia; despite the disreputable old sorcerer's irascible mien, the Mimbrate was genuinely fond of him.  It was comforting to think that, after they had rested and recovered from their ordeal, they would once again travel in his company, on great deeds intent, and Mandorallen would ride as he had before, at the head of their file, cap-a-pie, pronouncing to the whole world the importance not only of the people beneath his protection but also the magnitude of their quest.

He shifted in his chair, moving his feet; the ache in his toes made him smile a little.  So delighted had some of the Algars been with Belgarath's imminent recovery that an impromptu ball had commenced in the Hall downstairs.  A makeshift band started up in one dim smoky corner, and many of the Algars and their guests, lead by Prince Kheldar, had leapt upon the tables and begun to dance.  Mandorallen had laughed as he watched them from his seat at the end of the long trestle table, which rocked and wobbled beneath their weight.  He had clapped along with the tympani and cymbals, enjoying their rhythm, until Silk had jigged up to him, ratlike face gleaming with sweat and flushed with ale, and said breathlessly:

"There are altogether too many Alorns on this table – come join us, Mandorallen!"

It must have been a combination of wine and relief that compelled him to clamber upon the table beside Silk, skipping in his heavy booted feet beside the thief, their hands on their hips, banging and clattering the dishes about.  He had seen Hettar, usually grim-faced, but now smiling, and turning a tall dark girl about in his arms.  That had put him in mind of the last time he'd danced, danced properly, at a grand ball in Korodullin's palace at Vo Mimbre:  The feel of slim corseted waists beneath his hands, the gleam of jewels at throats and in glossy braided hair, the swish and drag of heavy silk skirts about his feet.  But no prim and ceremonious ladies for him this time; the low-beamed hall, hot smoking fires and raucous shouts begged a different partner. 

He'd cast about then, seeking out some buxom Alorn maid far gone in ale with whom to dance, but then his eyes lighted upon a shadow hovering in a corner:  Taiba, the Marag slave, clad in one of Lady Polgara's gray dresses, watching from the darkness, her eyes brilliant with delight.  Realizing with a pang she had probably never seen people celebrating before, Mandorallen decided abruptly it was high time her education in joy began.  He’d leapt from the table to land in a puff of dust on the rushes, striding up to her, smiling, hand outstretched.

"There may indeed be far too many Alorns on this table, but in truth there are far too few ladies, Alorn or otherwise, with whom to dance," he'd said, taking her calloused little hand in his own and pulling her unresisting to the trestles.  "Come, my dear lady, dance thou with me!"

"But I've never danced before!" Taiba had laughed, following him nonetheless and allowing him to lift her up onto the table beside the stomping, thumping throng.  With a grin Mandorallen had jumped up beside her and put one hand around her waist.

"Then I shall instruct thee," he'd shouted over the noise.  "Attend thou unto me, O Taiba, and learn the gentle art of celebration!"  And he'd taken her in his arms and shown her the steps – two forward right, two back right, curtsey, stomp, and turn – two forward left, two back left, curtsey, stomp, and clap … possessed of a natural grace and a gift for rhythm, Taiba had been a quick learner, following his lead in even the more complicated reels, her long dark hair loose about her shoulders, fanning out when she turned, floating about her face when she jigged.  Her pale skin flushed under her exertions and her dark eyes sparkled with happiness.  Mandorallen smugly conceded to himself that of all women there, his partner was probably the prettiest.  And Taiba, watching the great knight's bobbing, bouncing curls and broad, blue-clad shoulders, marked the difference between the dark sallow Algars and this mighty Mimbrate, and didn't feel quite so alone.

Neither of them saw the pale fanatic watching them from a dim recess, staring hungrily after their fleet-foot forms and hearing with bitter eagerness their breathless laughter; neither of them saw Relg turn and stalk away, muttering under his breath of pleasure and sin and frivolity, slinking into the quiet darkness of a deserted parapet and contemplating the distance to the earth far below.

They had danced for hours, it seemed; at last Mandorallen's heavy boots were his undoing – no dancing slippers, those; he would limp with blisters for a week  – and Taiba, unused to such expense of energy, to his relief agreed they had to stop.  Mandorallen, full of wine and good humor, had bowed elegantly over her pale worn hand, properly extending one leg and throwing his other arm back in a gesture of foppish gentility.  The Algars had all laughed and applauded this light-hearted act, and Taiba, blushing in confusion, had let him kiss the back of her hand, though she had not answered with the customary curtsey.

Mandorallen did not begrudge her this – raised as she had been, living her entire miserable life in the slave-pens like an animal, how could she have learned such courtly behavior?  Had it been an Arend woman who had so neglected this, or even one of the slim dark Algar maids, Mandorallen might have allowed himself to feel affronted, but this was Taiba, and he indulgently let it pass.

Removing his boots and climbing stiffly into the waiting bath had been a luxury he'd not expected; nor had he foreseen the sumptuous bedchamber accorded him, hung with embroidered tapestries and appointed with ornate and comfortable furniture.  The cold stone floor was covered in thick plush rugs, and tall, pale beeswax candles glowed in their sconces.  The servant had left him with the robe and slippers, taking his soiled clothing with him, promising to return it properly laundered and pressed the following day.  More interesting to Mandorallen though had been the full decanter of wine left on the sideboard, and once the servant had helped him out of the bath and wrapped the robe around him, he'd secured for himself a generous goblet, sinking into the armchair by the blazing fire with a happy groan.  Now he was alone in his quiet room, his weary head pillowed and his sore feet cushioned, his stomach full and his nerves humming with wine.  He felt very clean, and warm, and content.

He contemplated going to bed, but wasn't sure, despite his weariness, if he could sleep right away.  The dancing and feasting had keyed him up, and although he felt ready to drop with exhaustion knew he would only lie for hours staring at the ceiling.  He needed something – besides wine – to help him get over the buzzing residual excitement, something to shut off his brain, something to relax him –

His hand moved automatically to his lap, and he arrested himself with a guilty thrill.  Could he -- ?  Would he even be able to?  Three months' deprivation answered him with a stirring of pleasure, and smiling to himself Mandorallen set the goblet on the floor.  In bed, or in front of the fire?  If he did it in bed, he could go to sleep immediately upon securing his release.  But – he shivered – the bed was sure to be cold, and though the fire was dying down, it was much warmer here in the chair.  He considered throwing more wood on the fire to warm the room but decided against it, as such a domestic chore was sure to throw off his inclination.  Unable to decide he idly fingered his thickening member beneath the plush warm robe, enjoying the anticipation of the act almost as much as the touch of his own hand.  Finally, suppressing a shudder, he parted his robe and touched himself.

The knock on his chamber door made him jump with surprise and panic.  He hastily pulled the robe back over his arousal, grateful his indecision had delayed him somewhat, and gratified the servants knew enough to knock before entering.  Getting stiffly to his feet and shifting the folds of the thick robe to more adequately camouflage his aborted diversion, he shuffled to the heavy oak door and wrenched it open. 

He looked down in surprise – it was Taiba, which was odd enough, but she looked as though she had a terrible itch in the middle of her back – or a pulled muscle in her hip – or a broken rib – something that made her twist her torso, grimace, and reach behind her desperately, flapping her hand ineffectively against her back.

"Sir Mandorallen!" she gasped, hopping up and down on one foot in frustration.  "Please – help me – "

"Of a certainty, my lady," said Mandorallen, automatically accepting the call to aid a damsel in distress.  He watched her jerking around like a marionette for a moment, unsure of what to do.  "Er … what is it, precisely, that ails thee?"

"It's this – damn thing – Silar made me wear – "  Hop hop twist and reach, biting her thick red lower lip so hard the knight was afraid she'd make herself bleed.  "Get it off – quick – "

Not exactly sure how to help her, but recognizing he could do nothing with her gyrating and gesticulating in the hallway, Mandorallen drew her gently into his chamber and let go the door.  It swung, groaning on its hinges, shutting with a dull thump and a click as the latch was thrown.  Still Taiba jumped and hopped, jigging with almost as much energy as she'd shown on the trestles in the Hall below.  Mandorallen pursed his lips to keep from smiling at the sight she made.

"What dost thou desire of me, lady?" he asked politely.

"Unhook – this – damned – thing!" she grunted, turning around so her back was to him, and then Mandorallen saw where her difficulties lay.  Her dress was half-unbuttoned, and beneath it was a stiff yellowed corset, obviously cut for a woman less lushly endowed than Taiba herself, elaborately cross-tied and hooked and buttoned.  She had managed to undo about a third of it herself, though the linen bands had gotten tangled in the little wooden buttons of the dress, and in her frustration she had pulled on the stays, and they had tightened around her waist.  Once he had perceived the full extent of the disarray, Mandorallen was rather surprised she could still breathe.

"I see," he said gravely, and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.  "I beg of thee, dear lady, desist in this hopping about, that I might study thy difficulty the more clearly, and perchance divulge a method by which we might free thee from these most constricting items of clothing."

"I don't care – if you rip them off me – just get this damned thing off!" she panted angrily.  "Clothes – I don't mind – but this contraption – "

"Fear not, O Taiba!" Mandorallen said soothingly, patting her shoulder.  "I am certain, should I prove unable to aid thee in this, we might find some lady to whom we may appeal, who might be more knowledgeable about such items … " He frowned and knitted his brows thoughtfully, wondering where he should start; it was like untangling fishing line " … So that we might not damage the clothing that Queen Silar hast loaned unto thee."  He propelled her gently into the room, closer to the fireplace.  "Though it is difficult to see – one moment, my lady."  He knelt at the hearth and put more logs onto the fire, blowing on them steadily until they caught, and their bright new flames lit and warmed the room.  "Ah," he said with satisfaction; "now perchance I might see to this conundrum the more clearly."

Taiba turned with her back to the fire with a tense sigh.  "I hope you have a knife," she grated, giving a grunt when Mandorallen eased his fingers beneath the stays and tried to loosen them.

"Why is that, my lady?" asked Mandorallen, a little apprehensively; surely she wouldn't think of exacting revenge for this situation upon the Queen?

"To cut it off if you can't untie it," she said shortly.  "Ergh – " Mandorallen had managed to unhook part of the stay ribbon from around a button, but in order to move it from around the hook-and-eye he had to pull on it a little.  "You're supposed to be _un_ tying it, you know," she huffed.

"Be at peace, dear Taiba," said Mandorallen, smiling.  "It is not unlike unraveling tapestry, a nefarious hobby I was quite proficient at, in my childhood when I was perhaps more mischievous than thoughtful.  Ah, how much distress I did cause my lady mother, and her poor maids, for I would pick at the back of their needlework and pull the loose threads through, in my depredations bringing to naught many hours of labor!  But mayhap good Chaldan hath willed this vile experience to better enable me to come to thy aid.  There, you see, if I pull upon this ribbon here – "

"Ow!" squawked the Marag, repressing the urge to turn around and slap him.  "What are you – "

"Then I can unlatch this hook and pull the button through – "

"That's tighter! – Stop – "

"So that I can unhook the stay ribbon from this button here."  With an almost audible snap, the corset sprang apart, though it was still tangled in ribbon and hooks.  Taiba gave a gasp of relief.  "And then, dear lady," said Mandorallen with a note of approval in his voice, "thou wilt be the better able to draw in thy breath, whilst I work upon the snarls and knots thou hast created – in truth, dear Taiba, I know not how thou hast accomplished this," he added reproachfully.  "Verily I think not that thou couldst have inflicted such damage of a purpose, which thou hast managed in accident."

"So long as I can breathe, I don't particularly care," sighed Taiba, her shoulders slumping.  "Great Mara, Sir Mandorallen; I thought my lungs were going to burst." 

They were silent a moment, listening only to the popping and crackling of the fire, Taiba standing upon the warm hearth and Mandorallen kneeling behind her, working the ribbons out of the loops in the stays, and meticulously unsnarling the string from around the hooks.  Had any other denizen of the Stronghold come upon them they would have been at the worst censured, at the best thought strange; but as for Taiba and Mandorallen, neither considered their situation warranted a second glance, for they had been in straited means and difficult circumstances for so long that the simple task of releasing a baffled torso from a corset was not so extraordinary.  It was certainly less upsetting than escaping from a collapsing mountain, or fleeing from the entire Murgo army. 

So Taiba stood, hands on her hips, humming a little under her breath; after a moment Mandorallen realized with a smile she was humming the last tune to which they had been dancing.  He looked up at her, at the loose dark hair spilling over her shoulders, past the gaping fastenings of the back of her dress.  He could see a good bit of her back now, and was cut to the quick to see the faded bruises and puckered whip-marks there.  What a horrible, unspeakable life this poor woman had suffered!  What lead men to treat other people so, to use them like brute beasts, to slake their lust for power, or cruelty, or pleasure so pitilessly?  His kindly heart was twisted, and his blue eyes filled with sympathetic tears, blurring his vision.  Blindly he tugged and twisted at the ribbons and hooks, lost for a moment in his own sad thoughts; then Taiba said, "Thank you, Sir Mandorallen."

            Mandorallen blinked back his tears, cleared his throat, and said evenly, "I do only that which a true friend and champion wouldst do for thee, dear lady."

            "Oh, that!"  Taiba looked over her shoulder at him, smiling; from his spot on the floor the knight could see the curve of her cheek, etched in gold from the firelight.  "I meant the dancing earlier.  I'd never danced before.  It was fun.  Thank you for teaching me."  She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair, letting it fall in its blue-black mass about her shoulders.  "Though whenever I thought about a knight in shining armor coming to my rescue, I must admit I never imagined him unhooking my corset."

Mandorallen blushed deeply, causing Taiba to laugh again, though her cheeks pinked a little as well.  "I didn't mean it quite like that," she assured him, reaching round and laying her pale hand on his burning cheek.  "Although," she giggled, "that's where all those romance stories end up, isn't it?"

"Thou and I must have read books of differing nature, then," said Mandorallen a little stiffly, abruptly very aware of his fingers in contact with her bare skin.  He tried to concentrate on unwinding a long piece of linen from one of her dress buttons, willing his consciousness of her warmth and proximity to subside.

Taiba turned back around so that Mandorallen couldn’t see her face, though he saw she had raised her head, as though she were lifting her chin defiantly.  "Don't be silly," she said, her voice a little rough.  "Of course you know I can't read."

Once again the thin cold dagger cut him, and Mandorallen paused, his hands flat on the small of her back.  "I do most humbly and contritely beg thy pardon, dear Taiba!" he exclaimed, mortified.  "In truth I meant no offense; 'twas only the subject of unhooking corsets – " He stammered to a halt, not sure what to say next; Taiba turned back to him, a slow smile sliding up the side of her face.

"Are you all so touchy about that?" she asked casually, shifting a little on her bare feet and digging her toes into the thick warm hearth rug.  "And I thought Relg was bad.  Don't tell me you're as prickly about that sort of thing as he is."

"No, of course not," said Mandorallen, not sure whether he were indignant or amused by the inference.  "I do not deny having taken my pleasure from a willing woman, but in my lands it is not seemly to speak of it, nor would I dream of so imposing myself upon one so cruelly used as thee."

Taiba appeared to consider that.  "Well, all right," she conceded, shrugging.  "So long as you're not going to start spouting off about sin and depredation or anything.  And please," she added with a laugh, "whatever you do, don't start praying!  I've had enough of religion to last a lifetime."

"I do believe thee," said Mandorallen earnestly.  His experiences in the Temple of Torak had rattled him, and he hated to think that the fates of so many of Taiba's fellow slaves had ended upon that bloody altar. He found to his annoyance his eyes had fogged with tears once more, and reflected that, if he didn't get down to business and unwind her from her womanly cocoon, he would be risking her reputation here in his chambers, as well as his own.  With that chivalrous thought in mind he gave the last hook a particularly vigorous wrench, and at last the long linen thread came free, sliding out of the confining eyelets to fall slithering into his fingers. 

"Victory at last, dear lady!" he said happily, rising to his feet.  "Thou art free of thy fetters and have been unbound indeed."

"Thank Mara!" she exclaimed, and to Mandorallen's horror pulled the top bodice of her dress down, exposing the gaping corset.  With a startled gasp he spun around with his back to her, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh, Mandorallen, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, and he could feel her hand on his shoulder.  "I keep forgetting – I can never seem to remember I'm in the light, and everyone can see me now.  Just let me get this damned thing off and I'll button this dress back up."

"An it please thee, my lady," said Mandorallen, forcing his voice to be steady; the sudden white flash of bosom and throat had burned itself upon the inside of his eyelids, and he struggled to replace the image with something – anything – else.  Attempting to make conversation to drown out the silky susurration of cloth on skin he added, "I have never understood the reason women are so attired – surely it is no comfortable thing to so constrict oneself with an object of that manufacture."  He fingered the thin linen strings in his hand, felt them drape and tickle against his skin.  "It seemeth to me an unnecessary object."

"Your armor doesn't look all that comfortable, either," said Taiba; her voice in his self-imposed darkness teased him with its proximity.  "But at least it performs a necessary function.  I'm not sure what good this corset's going to do me."  She grunted a little, then said:  "All right – you can turn around now.  I'm all covered up."

With a grateful sigh Mandorallen opened his eyes and turned around.  Taiba was smoothing the bodice of the dress down over her stomach, and when she saw Mandorallen watching her she smiled a little self-consciously.  "I never paid much attention to whether I was covered or not before," she admitted, lowering her eyes.  "But the way you all react to the sight of a little skin makes me feel kind of awkward."

"I am very sorry, dear Taiba," said Mandorallen contritely, handing her the corset strings, which she wrapped up in the discarded garment and dropped on a nearby footstool.  " 'Tis not thy doing we are so distracted by thee."

"It certainly seems like it," she said with a sigh, looking discontentedly down at the corset.  "That's all I've done since I got here – attracted attention.  It seems I can't even walk down a hallway without someone noticing me.  I'm not used to being so different from everyone else."

"Art thou not?" asked Mandorallen in surprise.  His foot nudged something cold, and he looked down; it was his wineglass, still with a sip of wine in the bottom.  Suddenly realizing he could use a drink to help him recover from his ordeal – and that it would be only polite to offer one to Taiba as well – he picked it up and walked back to the sideboard, unstoppering the decanter.  "Perchance in the darkness of thy previous abode none could descry the o’erwhelming radiance of thy beauty, and thou wert thus overlooked … a glass of wine to aid thee in thy recovery of breath, dear Taiba?"

When she didn't respond right away, Mandorallen looked back at her; she still stood by the fire, a rather stunned look on her face.  At his questioning expression she shook herself and said, a little shyly:  "Sorry – I've never been called beautiful before – I guess it just went to my head."

"Shouldst thou bide thy days in this place some time, thou shalt see the living proof of it," smiled Mandorallen, pouring them each a goblet of wine.  "Dost thou not see the eyes of the Algar warriors as they follow thee, when thou art about thy business here?  In truth I do not think they even mark that they gaze after thee, so befuddled are they with thy breathtaking loveliness."

"There you go again," smiled Taiba, taking the proffered glass.  "You keep this up and you're going to coax another blush out of me."  She hesitated, looking down into the rich red wine.  "Aren't we supposed to clink our glasses together in honor of something before we drink?" she asked.  "After all, that's what everyone did before the meal tonight."

"A toast, dost thou mean?" asked Mandorallen in surprise.  "Well, that is perhaps more customary in large gatherings, but there is no reason why we shouldst not so indulge ourselves."  He raised his glass.  "To what shall we drink?"

Taiba thought for a moment, chewing on her lip contemplatively; then her dark eyes lit up and she looked up at the knight, grinning.  "To the corset!" she said, lifting her glass to his.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Mandorallen touched his goblet to hers with a light _clink_.  "An interesting toast, my lady," he said dryly, watching her take a generous gulp of the wine.  "To what does that unhappy object owe such accolade?"

"Well, it's off me, isn't it?" asked Taiba petulantly, licking a stray drop of wine from her full lower lip.  "I'd say that's reason enough."

"Very well," said Mandorallen, smiling, and himself took a sip.  "Wilt thou sit thyself here, my lady?"

“All right, now that I can sit without holding my breath," said Taiba cheerfully, and plopped down in the deep armchair before the fire, snuggling into its cushy depths with a satisfied sigh.  "Furniture is so comfortable," she said with a smile, and took another drink.  "I don’t think I'll ever get tired of being comfortable."

Mandorallen had to turn his head to hide another blurring of tears.   Had Ctuchik not already been dead, Mandorallen would have sworn then and there to return to Cthol Murgos and kill him all over again.  To cover his confusion he pulled another armchair forward to the fire, and sat beside Taiba.  She had tucked her feet up underneath herself, and sat leaning on the closest arm, gazing happily into the flames, her goblet, already half-empty, held loosely in her small white hands. 

Mandorallen reflected she did not much resemble the weak, miserable creature they had rescued in the caves below the slave pens.  Her freedom – and a few good meals – had done her a world of good.  Her broad, high cheekbones were touched with roses, and her dark eyes full of life and good humor; the tangled, lackluster hair had been washed and brushed, and gleamed in the firelight, glossy and thick.  She was still far too thin for a woman of her stature, and remained very pale, but that, he thought, was nothing a few months in Algaria wouldn't cure.

She sensed his eyes upon her, and turned, her face winsome.  "And do you find me so strange as well, Mandorallen?" she asked teasingly, taking another drink.

"A bit, perhaps," said Mandorallen evenly, seeing she was not offended by his regard.  "I have after all never met a Marag before."

"And I've never met a Mimbrate Knight before," she giggled into her glass.  "So we're even."

They sat in companionable quiet a moment, until Taiba had finished her wine.  She handed him the goblet and said, "May I have some more?  I like the way it makes me feel, all light and floaty and sparkly."

Mandorallen looked at her cautiously.  "Thou hast never before this night tasted wine," he said, taking in her dilated eyes and flushed cheeks.  "It is not perchance so wise to overindulge in such a thing, when thou art unused to its effects."

"Well, I don't know how much I _should_ drink," she confessed with a laugh.  "You're more knowledgeable than I am in this – how much do _you_ think I should drink?"

Mandorallen gave her a hard look, decided she could probably stand one more glass without deleterious effect, and rose to his feet with a resigned sigh.  "Shouldst Lady Polgara find I have been entertaining thee unchaperoned in my chambers and plying thee with wine, she will be most wroth with me," he said, shaking his head and smiling as he refilled their glasses.  "And shouldst she discover I have removed thy corset, my lands shall go to my cousin Renigen, who is mine heir and inheritor … very well; one more glass for thee, my lady."

"Do you feel out of place here too?" asked Taiba suddenly, watching him from where he stood at the sideboard, pouring out the dark clear wine.  "You're the only Mimbrate here.  Do you think they find you very different, like they find me?"

Mandorallen cocked his head, considering this.  His long curly hair fell over his shoulder, one black tendril quivering over his hands as they were arrested in their movement by her question.  "Perhaps a little," he admitted, resuming his task.  "I am smiled at, I know, for my turn of phrase and our differences in speech.  And though they show me no discourtesy – Lord Hettar would not permit it – I know they find me odd, and that, my lady, is no comfortable thing."  He returned to their armchairs, carefully carrying their goblets.  "So it is not only thou, my lady, who findest thyself the object of curiosity – I, too, have felt it here, though it detracts not from their hospitality."

"Yes," said Taiba with a sly smile, taking her glass and turning it round in her hands.  "I thought so – I've watched the Algar women watch you, when they thought you weren't looking."  At his surprised stare, she laughed and took a deep draught.  "Didn’t know that, did you?" she asked gaily, her dark eyes sparkling.  "They watch you as you walk by, with their heads down pretending to be doing something else – then when your back is to them, they stop and stare after you."

"Now it is my turn to blush," said Mandorallen dryly.  She laughed again and laid a hand on his arm, squeezing him lightly, but Mandorallen noticed, when she brought her goblet back up to her lips, her hand stayed where it was, and he wondered if it had been prudent to give her that second helping of wine.


	2. 2

**2.**

 

 

 

Taiba coaxed a third goblet of wine out of Mandorallen, effectively emptying his decanter.  He cautioned her about how she might feel the next morning – "That's nothing," she'd said airily, waving one hand in a dismissive manner.  "Try waking up after you've been beaten by three guards" – and, his heart wrung with pity, and lifted with a sort of bemused wonder, he watched as she blossomed before his fire.  The warmth brought high color to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled, limpid and bright.  She became animated, and her conversation grew wittier and more lighthearted the longer they sat together.

Mandorallen smiled and listened to her talk, growing ever more delighted in her playful impudence, and chatted easily with her, joining in her teasing, and when the banter waned, simply sat next to her in companionable quiet as the fire burned down.  He thought of politely offering to escort her back to her rooms – he was still disappointed about being interrupted in his quest for private pleasure – but the longer they sat together, the less inclined he was to change the status quo.  She was a comfortable and interesting companion, and conversing with her was quite likely a superior form of relaxation than masturbating, anyway. 

After about an hour of this, he saw her shiver, and realized the room was growing cold.  Kneeling once more upon the hearth, he stacked some small logs upon the embers and kindled them into life.  As he dusted the bits of bark and dirt from his hands he felt her stir, behind and above him, and her bare feet stretched down to the floor.  He turned to look up at her, and was surprised to see an expression of alert vivacity in her eyes.  He had thought her foray into the ingestion of alcohol would have made her indolent and sleepy, but instead she looked almost roguish as she stretched her arms above her head and cocked a smug smile down at him. 

"This is quite nice," she said, her rich throaty voice full of humor.  "Not long ago, I was nothing more than a useless slave in a dark dungeon.  Now I've got the Baron of Vo Mandor kneeling at my feet and building a fire up for me so I don't catch a chill."

Mandorallen smiled indulgently up at her.  "And who knows, my lady, what vistas thy future might hold, in one year, or twenty?" he asked, eyes twinkling.  "Perchance thou mightest catch the eye of some rich lord, and be taken to wife to live in opulent luxury for the rest of thy blessed days."

"Hm," said Taiba thoughtfully, her smile fading as she looked away.  "No.  I don't think so."  She rested her chin on her hand with a sigh, her eyes distant.  Even should some well-heeled nobleman condescend to marry her, how could she wed, when her heart yearned for another?  That her desires were sure to go unmet only added to her sudden melancholy, and she felt very subdued.

Mandorallen watched her, unsure, but suspected he knew of whom she thought.  It was a hard thing, he determined, to desire someone you could never have … that, of course, brought him in mind of his own forbidden beloved, and sitting back on his heels he looked into the fire, wishing he could see therein the face of the beautiful Baroness of Vo Ebor, forever denied him. 

Taiba caught the slight slump of those broad shoulders, and from where she sat could see the angle of his face, pensive and a little sad.  Though it didn't help much, from a practical standpoint, knowing someone was as unhappy as she, it did make her feel better knowing – once again – that she was not alone here in the Stronghold.  Mandorallen, at least, knew how she felt.

"Who is she?" she whispered.

Mandorallen's head turned enough so she could see his profile, his aquiline nose and full lips, but his eyes were downcast and he did not look at her.  "Who, my lady?" he asked quietly.

"The woman you want.  The one you don't have."

That stung; Mandorallen flinched, and Taiba put an apologetic hand on his shoulder.  He could have shrugged it off, but it wasn't worth it.  She liked to touch people, he knew; he had seen her constantly reaching out, leaning in, nestling down.  Bereft of light, what other source of companionship had she ever known?  He would not be rude, and deny her the touch of his shoulder. 

"Nerina, Baroness of Vo Ebor," he said, a little flatly.  Why should he not tell her?  The whole world knew of his perfidy; it would only take a few well-worded questions for her to find out, anyway.

Another warm little hand joined the first one.  Her grip tightened, and when she spoke he could tell she had leaned down, because her voice was closer, and he could feel her warm breath wafting the curls around his ears.  "And why does this Nerina deny you?" she asked.  She almost sounded indignant, which surprised him a little.  He turned to her, and read the anger on his behalf in her face, her expressive face, which had never learned to hide its feelings.

"What makest thee to think I have but to snap my fingers, and any woman wouldst run to my side?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.  "I may indeed be the Mightiest Knight on Life, but I do not command that kind of respect, from either man or woman."

She raised her eyebrows at him.  "I find that hard to believe," she said, and in the midst of feeling flattered Mandorallen realized she was genuinely surprised.  Gratified, he turned about, so that he was facing her fully, kneeling at her feet like a suppliant.  She moved her hands so that one rested on each of his shoulders.  It felt oddly like a benediction.  "What woman wouldn't want you?  You're handsome, and brave, and strong, and rich, and nice.  What could possibly make her not come crawling to you on her hands and knees?"

"Her husband, the Baron of Vo Ebor, perhaps," said Mandorallen in a choked voice.  Taiba looked taken aback at this, but didn't move her hands.  Instead she looked thoughtful, then sympathetic when she realized his predicament.  "So seest thou, O Taiba, so long as my lord liveth, that lady is denied me, through no fault of her own; I beg of thee to see that she doeth me no wrong in this, but liveth as she ought, in full compliance with both honor and law."  He took a deep, shaky breath.  "I wouldst not have thee to think ill of her in any way."

"All right, then, I won't," said Taiba honestly, giving his shoulders a squeeze.  But she didn't let go, still bending over to touch him, and Mandorallen realized to his consternation that, when he dropped his eyes from hers, he got a much better view than he'd expected of her more outstanding assets, displayed as they were, full and unfettered, beneath the loose bodice of her dress.  Pressing his eyes shut to block the unauthorized prospect, and relentlessly quashing the unbidden thought that her breasts were a rather pleasing shape and color (unsuccessfully; that thought was chased away by a contemplation of how they might feel beneath his palms), he dropped his head, and Taiba, mistaking his gesture for sorrow, with an incoherent cry took him about the shoulders and pulled his head in her lap.

In the midst of his surprise, Mandorallen discovered not only were her breasts effectively hidden from him (he ignored the little voice in his head that said he was disappointed), but he had the added benefit of a warm and comfortable place upon which to recline, which, considering the hour and the amount of wine he'd drunk, was rather appealing.  With a grateful sigh Mandorallen allowed the woman to comfort him, resting his cheek upon one of her flannel-covered thighs.  The placement of his hands caused him a moment's consternation, but deciding leaving them on his lap might be construed as unfriendly, he cautiously rested them on the seat of her chair, one on either side of her knees, hoping it wouldn't seem presumptuous, but in truth he had little experience dealing with a woman so unschooled in the courtly arts, and was unsure what she might expect of him.  She didn't seem unhappy with what he'd done; in fact, she took one of his hands in her own, and cradled it against her breasts, cupping the back of his head with her other hand, and pressing him up against her stomach.

Now Mandorallen was rather glad he hadn't escorted her out of his room so he could masturbate in peace.  This was really much better – because once she _did_ leave, he would have in mind the feel of giving flesh beneath him, and the warm press of a woman's fingers, the memory of which had faded over time – over six months, wasn't it?  Well, he couldn't really remember; it wasn't important – now, when he touched himself in the forgiving dark, he would be reminded of the soft caress of feminine hands, and so improve his secret fantasies in his labors.  Giving in to the temptation to further their contact, he nestled comfortably in, and with a glad sigh he felt her fingers tentatively touching his head.

Taiba was fascinated by the tight glossy curls that gave off their oily, nutty fragrance.  Any time she had touched a man's hair in the dark slave pens it had been greasy, matted, dirty, flea-ridden.  The man whose head rested so contentedly on her lap was none of those things, had never been, even in the wilderness of Rak Cthol.  Dusty, yes; disheveled, yes; a bit on the musky side, yes; now, though, he was clean, and smelled nice, and was warm and soft and gentle, and the coils and spirals that twisted and tumbled through her curious fingers were silken, lustrous, enchanting, leaving behind on her fingers the soft gloss and light fragrance of the walnut oil.

"Do you mind if I touch your hair?" she asked, a little diffidently.  Relg's dislike of being touched had made her charier of assuming all felt and acted as she was accustomed.

Mandorallen considered this.  From any other woman it would have been highly improper, but what did this poor slave know of propriety?  Tactile expression was all she knew.  After all, wasn't he lying with her head in his lap – a shocking thing for a Mimbrate knight, and the Baron of Mandor?  But this was Taiba; he could make allowances for her. 

"Thou mayest," he said, and sighed as she thrust her hands into the thick mass, feeling the residual dampness on his scalp from his earlier bath, playing with the loops and twists, and after a moment she was surprised and amused to hear him give a little contented noise in his throat.

"Do you like this?" she asked, running her fingers through the pile of curls, so that they stretched out their full length, to spring back into kinky coils when they sifted through her fingers.

"Mm.  Yes," said Mandorallen into her lap.  His voice was muffled somewhat by the thick flannel skirt, but Taiba heard him, and smiled.  She resumed stroking and combing through his hair for a moment, pleased to see his shoulders relaxing.  She was curious about this big powerful man, who spoke with such polite deference to all, yet was, she was told, a wealthy and influential lord.  She had only ever known the bullying guards, and their sycophant slaves.  To her a man could be only one or the other – fawning, weak, and deceitful; or violent, intimidating tyrants. 

Many times during their flight from Rak Cthol, she had huddled beside Polgara, listening to the men speak in the darkness, half-expecting them to pounce on her at any moment.  She was bewildered by the authority the tall dark woman seemed to wield over the men who surrounded her; she had never known a woman could be powerful, too.  And knowing she could reduce Relg to horrified flight, or cause men's eyes to turn and watch her appreciatively, made her battered, abused heart lighten a bit.  If she were so beautiful, as Mandorallen had assured her, perhaps she could use that as a sort of power, instead of the handicap it had been for her in the slave pens.

She let her hands drift to Mandorallen's shoulders, upon which the tight black coils were scattered.  She lightly ran her palms over the ends of his hair, then brushed the plush robe he wore, marveling at the softness of the material.  She had never known such clothing existed, that was so velvety beneath her fingertips, and such a brilliant hue.  She fingered the gold braid trim of his collar, brushing the curls aside to give her better access; the smooth bright floss felt silky and hard. 

He moved a little beneath her ministrations, and the muscles of his shoulders and back bunched and shifted underneath the fabric, stretched tight over his torso.  She felt that too, and shivered to think what this strong, potent man could do to her, if he wanted.  She was weak, she knew, and would have no choice were he to force her to pleasure him.  But she didn't think Mandorallen would act in such a fashion – it seemed so unlike him to turn from his kindly, courtly self into the sort of man who would take a woman unwilling. 

She remembered all too well the feeling of helplessness, of pain and shame when a man would come upon her in the dark, holding her down and forcing her thighs apart.  Struggling and screaming did no good – oftimes it only made the man more violent – but sometimes it hurt so much she had to scream.

But then there were the times when a fellow slave would come to her, lonely, scared, seeking comfort, and then the act did not seem so repulsive; at times it was almost enjoyable.  She thought perhaps Mandorallen would fall into that latter category, though equating him with the feeble, defenseless men in the dark, their emaciated bodies pock-marked and crusted with dirt and old wounds, seemed terribly insulting.  He would not be that way – would not be the exhausted, desperate sort to whine and cajole, hurrying through the act before anyone could catch them together, and bolting with terror when his climax had been accomplished; yet he would certainly not be like the guards, who hit and kicked you into submission, brutally thrusting into you like a hammer, and leaving indifferently when all was finished.  Taiba frowned to herself, absently weaving her fingers through his curls while she tried to reconcile her knowledge of men with the knight who sat so quietly, his head in her lap, his heart broken by another man's wife.

Mandorallen's own thoughts were melancholy.  He missed his keep, and his green fertile lands; he missed the heart-wrenching knowledge that his beloved was nearby; he missed being around those of his own race – those who worshipped his god, who spoke as he spoke, and thought as he did.  He loved his companions dearly, but still he felt very lonely in Algaria, and very out of place.  

Taiba's differences from the ladies with which he was the better acquainted only served to intensify his feelings of isolation.  She was out of place, and so was he.  They were very unlike each other, and at the same time were so vastly different from the people around them, that it seemed they were two stray and unmatched pieces of wood, mixed up in a set of children's blocks, to be discarded as unsuitable, because they didn't fit in with the rest of the toys.  And here they sat, he thought, alone and forgotten in his dim quiet chamber; Taiba had no other Marag with whom to forgather, and Mandorallen was the only Mimbrate in the country.  His spirits ebbed and he gave a great sigh.

"You're sad," said Taiba, and Mandorallen, even through his wine-and-weariness-induced melancholy, was forced to smile at her bluntness.

"A little, perchance," he admitted.  "I am far from my home, and many miles lie between me and the end of my journey."

"I don't even know where my journey's going to end," said Taiba.  "So you're doing better than I am, at least." 

She hesitated, wondering if she should offer – she was so ignorant of these other people and they way they thought and acted, and didn't know whether her proposal would meet with horror, or acceptance, or worse – pity.  And there were other considerations, of course – Relg, to whom she was so mysteriously drawn, and this Nerina of whom he'd spoken – but if they had no hope, why should they not then turn to each other? 

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she said carefully, "Mandorallen, I don't know your people – I don't know whether you'll be offended by this or not.  But in the slave pens, when we were hungry or scared or lonely, we would find someone willing, and lie with them, and sometimes it was enough to make us forget where we were for a little while.  You're sad, and I'm lonely.  If we lie together tonight, maybe you can forget how far you are from home, and I won't feel so alone, and we'll both feel a little better."

She held her breath, unsure of his reaction.  Mandorallen lifted his head and looked at her in amazement, his cheeks flushed scarlet.  Had she just said to him what he _thought_ she'd said?  Misreading his consternation for disapproval, she blushed pink and looked away. 

"Forget I said anything," she said shortly, biting her full lower lip until it turned white.  "It's probably – against your religion, or something."

"Not – my religion," said Mandorallen slowly, feeling as though his head were full of plaster.  "But – within a code of our honor – to take a woman in such a cavalier fashion – "

"Even if she's willing?" asked Taiba defiantly, looking down at him with flashing eyes.  Her pale cheeks were flushed, and her full lips pouted; her dark almandine eyes surrounded by their thick lush lashes were full of indignation and fear commingled.  She was indeed lovely, breathtakingly so, and the Mimbrate felt his desires stir.  Worse still, her luxuriant hair lay in dark wavy coils over her full plush breasts, quivering with her hurried breath, so that Mandorallen had to look away.

"To sleep with an unwed woman is to invite shame upon both participants," he said, his voice heavy and sullen.  "Lest the man marry the maid, their reputation and honor are sullied, except when the woman is of a brothel, but I wouldst not use thee as some common whore – " he turned back to her, his blue eyes dilated nearly black " – nor tarnish the hope of thy future, by making thee to be the recipient of simple lust, and discarding thee after."

"Honor and reputation don't even come into it, if no one knows what we've done," said Taiba carefully, watching him struggle for composure.  "And it's not as though I’m expecting you to marry me afterwards – we both know that would be even more dishonest than to lie to someone about what we might do together.  All I'm asking is if you want to take me, just once, just for tonight.  We're here, together, alone in this room; everyone else is asleep – or doing what we're talking about doing – we both feel lonely, and neither of us has anyone else to go to." 

She paused, then lifted tentative fingers to his cheek, brushing down from his temple to his jaw, feeling the pliant freshly-shorn skin.  "I won't tell a soul," she said, her eyes bright with anticipation.  "And neither will you."

Mandorallen stared up at her with horrified longing.  He couldn't believe she would think so little of herself to offer her body to him in this way, yet despite his propriety, he could feel his primal blood stirring, the call of the feral male that shouted down his hard-learned proprieties.  She bent over him, her dark slanted eyes above her prominent cheekbones limpid and glistening, her pale skin glowing in the firelight, her hair rich and wild, tumbling round her curved breasts. She was beautiful, and his desires urged him to take her; but she was under his protection, weak and alone with neither family nor advocate who would speak for her.  It was not his place to use her like that.

" 'Twould be churlish of me to so defile thee for the sake of simple gratification," he said, pulling away with abrupt violence and rising to his feet.  He turned from her, wanting to put as much distance between his body and hers, because his blood was up, and now that the shameful thought was in his head, it was difficult to discount.  He stalked to the sideboard and stared at the empty decanter, his heart pounding.  "Thou art no longer a slave woman, and compelled to obey the whims of a man's body; thou art liberated and unfettered, and free to do with thine own body what thou desirest."

"But I do desire this," insisted Taiba, rising and following him.  "I want to lie with you.  I've never gone to a man and offered myself before.  This is new; it makes me feel free and strong."  He turned to her, puzzled; she smiled and stepped up to him, hand outstretched to touch his cheek, which still burned with shame.  "I've always been taken and used," she said, her glorious eyes glassed with tears.  "Even when I was willing, the act left me empty and alone.  I want to take for a change.  I want to see what you can give me."

Mandorallen felt as though his brain were sluggishly turning around in his head, going from top to bottom in a long slow roll.  This sudden shift of view, from him taking her to her taking him, put everything in a completely different perspective.  He felt a little light-headed, and his heart started to thump erratically in his chest.  Could he?  Was it beyond the bounds of propriety to do this?  She asked for his compliance, for him to give to her, not offering herself for him.  It would be a selfless act – well, nearly selfless anyway – was he not duty-bound to do as she bid of him, to give her the pleasure she craved? 

His mind awhirl, and teetering on the brink of capitulation, he wondered – briefly – if this were some sort of betrayal of Nerina and Relg, but the memory of those full round breasts beneath the gray flannel drowned that thought out.  He watched as she drew nearer, her fingers caressing his cheek and jaw, her bare feet making little sound on the deep carpet, her eyes fixed on his own, earnest, pleading.  The descriptions she'd given of her former life, of being hungry and alone and frightened in the dark, of being used and taken and forsaken by men, made his heart constrict, and his eyes filled with tears.  She reached up and gently brushed them away, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.

"Why are you crying?" she asked.

"I weep for thee, O Taiba," he said in a broken voice, raising his hand to lightly press her palm against his cheek.  "Thou hast had all taken from you, and none given.  So deep for thee is my compassion that almost am I willing to give myself unto thee, so that thou mightest know the joy in this act, and not the sorrow only."

Taiba caught her breath, stunned by his sympathy, and bewildered by his reluctance.  "Joy?" she repeated in wonder, stepping closer, so that they could feel the heat from each other's bodies.  The room seemed very warm now.

"Dost thou not know joy, my lady?" whispered Mandorallen.  He curled his fingers around her hand and brought it to his mouth.  She flinched, waiting for the sudden squeeze or bite, but instead was surprised and pleased when she felt his lips brush softly across her palm.  His eyes were closed, the long thick lashes like dark smudges beneath his lids; one shining curl trembled on his forehead.  Then his lips opened, and he kissed the inside of her hand slowly, gently. Something dropped like a stone into her stomach and she began to quiver, half from fear, and half from ecstatic anticipation.

"Joy," the knight whispered against her palm, "is what I wish for thee, O Taiba; joy to blot from the book of thy life all the sad remembrances of thy miserable past; joy to write over thy bleak days with crimson and violet.  Joy."  He opened his eyes, his pale blue eyes, and in them Taiba saw lust and compassion mingled.  The sight so frightened her she almost fled, but gathering the tattered threads of courage about herself she took that last step forward, pressing her body against his, not knowing which of them trembled the most.  She raised her face so that her mouth was only centimeters from his; she could feel his quickened breath against her face.

"I have never known joy," she breathed, eyes fixed on his, and wondering whether lust or compassion would finally rule him.  Mandorallen's eyes wandered down her face to her mouth, to the wide curving red lips.  He smiled and said:

"What joys I have amassed in life, I possess in surplus.  Take thou from me what thou desirest most greatly; it is all for thee."  Then he brought his mouth to hers and pressed their lips together.

Taiba was hard-put to not flinch back.  Her only forays into kissing involved a lot of biting and violent lip-mashing; but Mandorallen's kiss was slow, languid, and gentle. 

He felt her cringe beneath his touch, and wanting above all for her to learn that she had nothing to fear from him, he held back his desire to embrace and kiss her madly.  His deprived body craved the feel of her breasts, her hips, her thighs, but though he knew she would submit to his yearning, he did not want her memory of their coupling to carry with it the taste of the old fears.  So, trembling with suppressed desire, he restrained himself, only holding her hand in his, standing still as a statue so as not to frighten her, and moved his lips, carefully, tenderly, until she could be used to his touch.

Taiba's heart beat madly in her throat, and all her instincts urged her to flee.  But the thrumming, pulling feeling in her stomach excited her, and Mandorallen's mouth was soft and warm, moving upon her own.  Unsure of how to respond, having never been kissed in this fashion, she tilted her head to one side, making a little more room for their noses, and then with a jolt felt the tip of his tongue lightly brush the underside of her upper lip.  She gave a soft gasp, her lips parting just enough for him to effect entry, and then the hammering of her heart was drowned out by the sudden high-pitched whine in her head as his tongue wound lazily about her own.

This was new territory; she had never had leisure to explore a man's mouth before, nor been offered the opportunity.  Hesitantly she chased the curl of his tongue about from her mouth to his, her heartbeat growing stronger and her breath coming short; he tasted of wine and metal. 

Mandorallen felt her grow bolder, and smiled to himself.  As in dancing, she was a fast learner, and the feel of her when she tipped her head to press in closer so excited him he let out a breathy moan into her mouth, and his arm thoughtlessly circled her waist and pressed her closer.

Taiba broke away with a noise that was almost a sob.  The feel of his arm holding her still had put her in mind of the last man who'd taken her, squeezing her so hard one of her ribs had cracked.  Hating herself for her fear, she dropped her forehead to Mandorallen's collar.  He released her carefully, and with a tentative movement touched her hair.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  She felt his face in her hair, felt the warm breath from his nose and mouth against her scalp, felt his fingers sift through the long silky strands.  "I want this.  I really do.  But it's so hard – "

"Release thyself from these false thoughts of thy culpability," said Mandorallen gently into her hair, his heart gripped with sympathy.  " 'Tis not thy doing that thy touch sends to my soul such o'erwhelming passion; thou art far more desirable than thou thinkest."  He pulled away from her, trailing his hands in her long locks, and stepped back so that he wasn't touching her any more.  She looked up at him, at his kindly smiling face, mortified and frustrated with herself.  Mandorallen only thought she looked all the more enchanting when she bit her lip in that fashion. 

"Thou didst ask of me, O Taiba," he said softly, "if thou couldst take from me what thou desirest.  I say to thee, my lady, that if thou dost truly want this, thou hast but to take it of me, and I shall gainsay thee nothing."  Then, holding her gaze steadily, he untied the belt at the front of his robe, opened it, and let it drop to the floor behind him.

Taiba's whole body spasmed, and her brain screamed at her to run.  But resolutely she stood her ground, fists clenched, knees locked, unwilling to back down from her decision.  She kept her eyes fixed on Mandorallen's face, though she could see just out of the bottom edge of her vision the expanse of his bare flesh, outlined against the tapestried wall; she wasn't sure she could stand to look too closely without bolting. 

As for Mandorallen, he regarded her with grave civility, as easy in his skin as he was in his blue doublet, or his armor.  She envied his poise, and thought angrily to herself that a woman grown and well-used to the lusts of men should not be so chary about facing a man with nothing on.  Knowing he was waiting for her to react, she wet her lips nervously with her tongue, gulped to wet her throat, and said, "Well."

"Yes," said Mandorallen, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.  "Well."

Swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, Taiba tried to will her legs to walk, but she was rooted by her feet to the floor.  Mandorallen stood patiently, watching her with pity and desire mingled, reading the terrible struggle in her face.  After a moment he said gently, "Thou hast willed that I should give, and thou shouldst take.  Take, then, O Taiba; I will not touch thee lest thou askest it of me."  And turning from her he walked over to the canopied bed, pulled down the counterpane, and lay down on the soft linen sheets.  He stretched out, his arms over his head and his legs extended, and turned his head to her with a roguish smile.

Seeing him reclining and exposed, made vulnerable and defenseless before her, lent her some courage, and she took a few hesitant steps toward the bed.  If he could strip and show his belly to her, why could she not give in to him as well? 

Still Mandorallen watched her, his arousal shimmering like heat on his skin.  His hands flexed and contracted a little as he fought the compulsion to reach for her.  She was like some half-tamed animal, made wary of companionship through hard usage.  To move too soon was to frighten her off, and Mandorallen had no wish to drive her away at this point – masturbation was all very well, but given the option, he would rather choose to slake his tension within her body.  Just the thought made his hips quiver with eagerness, and he felt a small drop of liquid pearl up on the tip of his penis, tickling and tormenting him as it sat unmoving upon the little slit.

Slowly Taiba approached the side of the bed, her breath coming in short panicky huffs.  She was so close, so close that if she but tore her gaze from his she would be able to see him, see what he was offering her.  She knew the physical evidence of his desire for her lay only a few feet away.  She could see it from the corner of her eye, and it teased at her vision until at last, unable to wait any longer, she looked.

He was broad about the chest and shoulders, firmly muscled and bulky, though his distended stomach was close and lean.  His pelvic bones stood out from his hips, cradling his stiff member, and his legs were thick and powerful.  There was a furry dusting of hair between his pink nipples, where they sat upon his rounded pectorals, and around his penis and balls, which were tense and dark.  His skin was lightly scarred in places, notably his shins and collarbone, where she supposed his armor had continually abraded him as he wore it, and the half-healed wound he'd sustained on his leg in Rak Cthol was pink.  But beside that, his skin was for the most part unblemished; it saw little of the sun, encased as he was in armor when he was out of doors, and as he was young it was yet smooth and white.  Catching her breath, Taiba cautiously reached down one hand to his chest and touched him; Mandorallen, through his baffled desire, flinched, his skin craving her contact.

She looked at him, and he watched her.  He was not ashamed of his body, knowing it to be strong and perfectly adequate for his purposes.  It had no deformities that he knew of, and when her eyes lit upon his male member and studied it contemplatively he smiled a little, for he had been told by more than one prostitute that if a man measured his worth by the size of his cock, he need never question his own value.  Her fingers drifted diffidently down, creeping with tickling slowness toward him, and he held his breath, reminding himself to be patient.  When one cool finger explored the moist tip of his length, he gave a great shudder and closed his eyes, aching.

"I feel like I did when I sat down at King Cho-Hag's table," Taiba whispered, and Mandorallen opened his eyes.  She was looking down at him, drinking in the sight, her eyes kindling with a slow fire.  "There was so much good to sample.  I didn't know where to start first."

Thinking of her devouring him made the room wobble a little.  Mandorallen gave an unsteady smile and said:  "At thy whim, my lady, and thy good pleasure.  Seek thou thy joy; it awaits thee here."

She dragged her eyes back up to his face; she was flushed, and her smile, though still a little strained, was tentatively excited, like a novice charging the tilt the first time.  "All right," she said, reaching behind herself and unbuttoning her bodice.  "I guess I'd better go looking for it then."

Mandorallen watched her with hooded eyes as she struggled out of the unfamiliar garment.  When the flannel dress slid to the floor, she hooked her thumbs beneath the wool undergarment around her hips and pulled it off.  Then she stood, suddenly self-conscious, blushing beneath his gaze, which had quickened.  He saw her glance shyly away, and said huskily:

"If it would aid thee in thy endeavors, my lady, I shall shut mine eyes to thee, so that thou mayest do as thou desirest without the weight of my gaze upon thee."

"Lie there with your eyes closed, you mean?" said Taiba, and returned her gaze to his face, which, she noticed, was rather forcibly focused on her eyes and not the rest of her body.  "Well, that would be a shame, wouldn't it?  Besides, you've seen most of me already – I'd rather you looked."  She spread her arms, standing beneath his eager regard, quivering with suppressed fear and desire mingled. 

Mandorallen drank in the sight of her, standing naked in the darkling room beside him.  Her lush ripe form abounded with curves and hollows and the promise of soft silky skin; her breasts were full and firm, with dark nipples; there was only the hint of her motherhood in the distended aureoles.  Her arms were slender and small, and her waist and hips full and plush. 

There was a thick silence, filled only with the sound of their breathing, while they watched each other watch each other, tracing curves and swells with their eyes and gauging each others' reactions.  At last Mandorallen said, his voice sounding tight and strained:

"If thou commencest not soon, O Taiba, I am certain I shall fly apart on my own, without having had thy hands upon me."

Taiba looked into his face and gave a lopsided grin.  "Well, we can't have that, can we?" she said, and taking a deep breath climbed on top of him.


	3. 3

**3.**

 

 

She settled down over his hips, her hands resting on the downy fuzz on his chest, feeling his member nudging up against her thigh.  Resisting the urge to shy away, she pressed down instead, and was rewarded when he closed his eyes and let his breath out in a sharp hiss.  "What do I do?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her.  "What?" he asked.  He was a little distracted by the feel of her warm body upon his own.

"What do I do?" repeated Taiba, her own arousal starting to chase her fears away.  "Should I put you inside of me now?"

Mandorallen smiled.  "Is that where thou wantest me to be?"

"Well, it won't do us any good anywhere else, will it?"

Mandorallen had to laugh at this.  He had never encountered naïveté combined with brash sensuality before.  But upon thinking about it, he decided it made sense; despite the number of times she'd been taken, he doubted any of the men with whom she'd lain had allowed her to be on top.  "Canst thou tell me, Taiba," he asked, "thou hast never before now mounted a man?"

"No," said Taiba, lowering her brows in confusion at his sentence construction.  "I mean, yes – I can tell you – that no, I haven't.  I've always been the, um, mounted one."

Mandorallen cocked his head, considering this, and looked at her, naked, lush, curvaceous, poised above him.  It was so tempting to simply roll her over and thrust himself in, but he had promised her he wouldn't touch her, and he intended to stick with it.  "What hast thou done then?" he asked, a genuine curiosity taking a little of the edge off his arousal.  "Dost thou lie there simply, allowing the man to do all the work?"  At her abrupt nod he grinned and said playfully, "Now, that is very slothful of thee, Taiba; it is not now surprising to me that thou hast not had much joy in it."

Taiba gave him a startled look, and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.  "You mean," she said slowly, "that it's up to ME to enjoy it?"

"I do," said Mandorallen soberly.  "Canst thou not feel the burgeoning desire take thee now?  Thou art flush and tense with it – I can see it upon thee – hast thou not felt these before?"

"I have," she admitted, shifting a little on his hips so that his member lay in the crease of her labia.  A spark of awareness shot through her, and she bit her lip.  Mandorallen saw this, and he smiled knowingly.

"And hast thou not acted upon it?" he asked, defying the impulse to move his hips and stimulate her.  There was no need; she moved again, and her eyebrows knotted in consternation.  "There," he whispered, watching her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.  "Seest thou that, there?  Move thyself again, Taiba."

She shifted, dragging the lips of her vagina up his length; her eyes fluttered closed, and Mandorallen sighed.  "Oh," she said softly, and moved down again.  "Oh.  I see."  She took a deep breath and pushed up on her knees, reached down and lifted Mandorallen's penis from his belly, and positioned herself over it.  Mandorallen's heart leaped – so close! – but her anticipatory grimace made his heart fall.

"Wait," he said, pulling his hips down into the mattress.  She looked at him, surprised.  "What dost thou fear of me?  I canst do nothing to harm thee, stationary as I am."

"It hurts when it goes in," said Taiba simply.  "Just at first.  It burns here."  She let go Mandorallen's penis and touched her labia.  Mandorallen sighed and shook his head.

"For a woman used to these carnal relations, thou art very unschooled," he chided her, flexing his arms so that they were crossed behind his head.  "It is moisture thou lackest, is all.  Hast thou not sufficient supply within thee?  Thou hast but to draw it out, and the passage shall be made the easier."  He grinned wickedly then, and added, "And as I have sworn to thee that I shall not touch thee, it is thy task therefore to find thy moisture, and so wet thy outer regions, so that thou mayest take me at thy pleasure."

Taiba stared at him in surprise.  "You want me to – to put my hands up into myself and, and spread my – my wetness around here?" she said disbelievingly, pointing to her labia.  "I can't do that!"

Now it was Mandorallen's turn to be surprised.  "Whyever not, my lady?"

"It will make me sick," said Taiba confidently, folding her arms across her full breasts.  "My mother said so, when she caught me at it once.  That if you touch yourself like that you'll get sick."

Mandorallen gave a shout of laughter, much to Taiba's indignation, and sat up.  She watched him warily but didn't back away.  "Taiba," he said, still chuckling, taking his own member up in his hand.  "Watch me."  And while she watched, wide-eyed, he stroked his hand slowly up to the head of his penis, circled it with his palm, and dragged it back down, slowly.  "Seest thou me?" he said, his voice suddenly unsteady.  "It makest thee not ill – that was but a tale one tells children, to arrest them in some embarrassing display." 

He stroked himself a few more times, feeling his arousal quicken, and was amused to see her watching him, fascinated by the sight of the thick head popping in and out of the circle of his fist.  "In truth," he added, growing a little breathless, " 'twas this very action I had commenced, when thou didst knock upon my door this eve."

"Really?"  Taiba still stared as he worked his rod, unwilling to think her mother had deceived her, but unable to deny Mandorallen looked very well and hale despite his depredations.  She bit her lip.  Watching him pleasure himself was making her feel very strange, as though she wanted to bat his hand away, and do it herself.  But that was not what she had wanted.  It would satisfy him, but she would remain unfulfilled, and as her fulfillment was the aim here, she thought she'd best get on with it, before he took himself too far, and left her frustrated.  Carefully, fearing her mother's ghost coming upon her and striking her down with some terrible disease, she reached down to her lips, parted them with one hand, and inserted one trembling finger.

Mandorallen had been right; she was very wet up there, and there certainly was more than enough to go around.  She felt her muscles clench around her finger, and she gave a little shudder as a thrill went through her.  She withdrew, and cautiously spread her moisture around her lips.  There was not quite enough, though, so she reached back up inside herself, with two fingers this time, and as she pulled back out she brushed the little bundle of nerves at the top of the split, and her thighs tensed up.  She heard Mandorallen give a breathy little moan, and looked down at him.  

He had lain back down, and was watching her hands intently, his fist around his cock unmoving but very tight.  "You like watching me?" she asked, smiling, and reached back up inside herself.  It seemed scarcely necessary now; enough moisture was flowing that she could feel it trickling down on its own; but it was obvious the sight of her touching herself was very exciting to Mandorallen, and she thought that he deserved a little recompense for the trouble she was causing him.  So she moved her fingers in and out, surprised at her own audacity, and startled by how good it felt.

"Yes," Mandorallen whispered.  He removed his fist from around his cock, and with deliberate care rested both hands beside his body on the bed, not moving, but watching her move. 

He had only once before watched a woman pleasure herself in this way.  An elderly Asturian innkeeper's young wife had followed him up to his chambers one night, and holding him at bay with her burning eyes had lifted her skirts and shown him what she could do.  He had been very young himself, not yet come into his majority, and in his confusion and shame had simply stood unmoving, unable to stop her.  When her climax had come upon her Mandorallen's had too, and taking in his strangled groan she had simply smirked and left him there to deal with the mess.  At first he'd cursed her, then upon reflection had left her a few extra coins on the bedside table the following morning.  It had, after all, been very enjoyable. 

But watching Taiba was even better – they were both naked, for one thing, and she was far more attractive, for another – and thirdly, he hoped to soon be ensconced in that very channel with which she toyed, which in his opinion was far, far better than releasing in one's trousers.  Unconsciously his hips twitched upward, and Taiba, taking pity on him, removed her fingers, and wrapped them once again around his member.

She positioned herself carefully above him, feeling the hot tip of his glans glide across the slick skin.  When she was certain it was in place she looked down at Mandorallen and met his eyes.  The blue iris was nearly occluded by black, and his whole body was tense and expectant; his hands fisted into the linen sheets, and he took a deep breath.

"Ready?" she said.  Her voice was shaking.

Mandorallen only nodded, but that was enough for Taiba.  She lowered her hips and enclosed him completely.

The sudden feeling of fullness seemed pressed against her back.  She hitched her hips forward, and a delicious thrill echoed through her entire passage.  Beneath her, Mandorallen threw his head back, exposing his throat; his eyes were closed, and his mouth had dropped open in ecstasy.  Taking a deep breath Taiba settled down on him, trembling.  It hadn't hurt at all, just like he'd said – it hadn't hurt, and the stiff length of him filled her completely.

Mandorallen was very still – he was struggling against the compulsion to start thrusting upward madly; he wanted her to find her own pleasure first.  But why wouldn't she MOVE?  He opened his eyes; she was perched over him, her hands on either side of his head, flushed, glassy-eyed, and very tense.

"What do I do?" she asked desperately.

"Move," groaned Mandorallen, closing his eyes.  "Please … move … "

Obediently Taiba raised her hips so that half his length slid smoothly out of her.  The sensation of his skin pulling against hers made her give a strangled moan.  Then she lowered her hips, impaling herself again, and the friction made itself known.  A hot feeling began to blossom within her, agitating her; she wanted something to happen but wasn't sure what it was, or how to get there.  With a frantic whimper she pulled up again, raising and lowering herself upon him, feeling the pressure push and expand inside her until she could barely breathe.  She could hear herself and the strange gasping noises she was making, but it didn't seem to matter; even Mandorallen didn't seem to matter; he receded from her until he was just that one stiff pulse-point about which she labored, eyes closed, back and forth until she was sure she was going to explode.  She could get – so far – teetering on the brink, it seemed, but just as she felt she were about to climax it would recede, and she would start again, pulsing over him, desperately seeking her release.

Seeing she'd stalled, Mandorallen gave his hips a little twist when she descended, grinding up against her.  Taiba's whole body leapt, and her mouth opened in a wide mute O.  Her rhythm increased, Mandorallen helping her build by moving his hips the tiniest bit when she came down, pressing against her clitoris.  He watched, heart in his throat, as she pulsed faster, her voice rising.  The great stinging aching point in her was growing, expanding, pushing her body apart; then abruptly it coalesced, sharp and hard and sudden, and with a scream her world shattered like glass on stone tile.

Mandorallen felt her spasm around him, shuddering and gasping, and as she collapsed on his chest he put his arms tentatively around her waist.  She wormed her hands into his hair with a shaky moan, panting into his throat; he could feel her sweaty forehead against his cheek.  Tipped forward, pressed against his chest, her angle of penetration had changed, and Mandorallen could feel the thick thatch of hair rubbing up against his own.  With a sly smile he pulsed up into her, and made a little circling motion with his hips.

She shuddered again and pressed down onto him, giving a little whimper; her hands tightened in his hair.  Lightly stroking the soft giving skin on her back, Mandorallen pushed his hips down into the mattress, withdrawing from her a little, then gave another slow thrust upward, circling.

The whimper became a groan, and through her torpor Taiba felt the fire stir again, kindled by the dying conflagration within her.  She began to move as well, thrusting forward on her thighs over him as he withdrew and advanced, again and again, slowly, achingly, teasingly.  At last she lifted her head, and Mandorallen was gratified to see her dark eyes glittering with lust, and clouded with desire.  

She watched him, open-mouthed, marking her own pleasure as he moved, nearly insensate to the expression of withheld gratification on his face.  He bit his lip, watching the subtle play of movement in her exquisite face, pleased to see the eyebrows pucker together, the eyes unfocus as she approached her second release.  He quickened his tempo and tightened his grip on her back, holding her still so that he rubbed against her as he pulsed within her.  After a moment she arched up off of him, even curling her legs up so that the soles of her feet nearly touched the back of her head; gritting her teeth she came undone again, her pleasure in waves washing over her and nearly drowning her with their intensity.

This time the clenching muscles around his member nearly broke Mandorallen.  He bit his tongue hard and held back, not willing to expend himself so soon.  He had been witness to what he was sure was a stellar occasion – the first time Taiba had felt such pleasure in joining – and he was sure he could coax at least one more explosion from her, before allowing himself to find his own.  After all, he thought, if one is to get used for pleasure, one might as well produce as much as possible. 

So when her body slowly unbent above him, and her limbs shakily returned to their places on either side of his body, he drew his hands down her back to cup her buttocks, squeezing them slightly, and then hitching her forward on him so that he slid out of her again.  She gave a discontented noise up against his throat and tried to shift down onto him, but Mandorallen's hands had found her thighs, and gripping them firmly, he slid her backward, impaling her on his length.

She gave a hoarse gasp and threw her head back; her hair in disarray scattered over her face, half-obscuring it, but Mandorallen could see the look of ecstasy there.  Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, seeking purchase; Mandorallen pushed her down again, and pulled her back up, and she gave a frustrated squeal and pushed herself up onto her palms, sitting back against him and gripping him hard with her inner muscles.  Biting back a cry, Mandorallen let her move herself, bracing herself with her hands on the ornate backboard, and pushing and pulling herself along his length she began the slow relentless pulse again.  She drew up her knees, stretching and thinning her passage.  

It was with monumental effort Mandorallen prevented his release while she labored and gasped above him, her full breasts swinging over his face.  He could see the stretch marks from her pregnancy striping the lower half of her torso, could see the thick wet dark hair beneath them, mingled with his own.  Then, her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clenched, she shattered again, giving a strangled scream, and Mandorallen could see the muscles in her hips and buttocks scrunching and quivering with the effort.

She fell forward onto his chest with a satisfied groan.  Mandorallen put his arms around her, smoothing the sweat on her skin and brushing the damp hair back from her forehead.  They were both breathing heavily, she from her efforts, and he from his frustrated tension.  But he waited until her breath had slowed, running his hands over the opulent curve of waist to thigh, circling his palm on the full bottom, drawing his fingers up the line of her backbone.  It felt so pleasant to have his arms full of warm soft skin, to feel the quivering sweaty legs move against his hips, the sticky hot breasts pressed against his chest. 

His member was still turgid, aching, white-hot with want, still tucked up inside the warm slick passage, shivering with eagerness, and when Taiba finally collected the scattered remnants of her consciousness she was aware of it, ramrod-straight, thrust up immobile into her.  She lifted her head and tried half-heartedly to push back her stringy hair from her eyes, looking down at the knight beneath her, patient and unsatisfied.  He smiled at her indulgently, enjoying the look of her, sated, bemused, flushed and sticky.  He craned his neck up, and his lips found hers, brushing softly against them.

"Well done, my lady," he murmured, kissing her lightly.  "Thou hast found some joy in this, I perceive."

"Yes," she said, and stifled a yawn.  "Three joys."  She jiggled on top of him as he chuckled, and she could feel the rhythmic pulse of him within her.  She rested against him, listening to her heartbeat slow, marking the movement of his hands as he traced the curves and hollows of her body.  "I thought you weren't going to touch me unless I asked."

"I inferred thy tacit approval from thine actions, O Taiba," he said innocently, the tips of his fingers running down the seam of her backside.  She gave a deep, rich laugh and tightened her thighs about his hips, tipping her own pelvis a little, so that the head of his cock, buried deep within her, rubbed against the entrance of her womb.  For her it was only a tingling rush of heat, but for Mandorallen, deprived as he was, it was more like a heavy blow to his stomach; he flexed up and gave an involuntary gasp.

Liking the sensation that his pleasure was at her command, Taiba smiled down at him and said, "You seem uncomfortable."

Mandorallen raised his eyebrows at her; his cheeks were a little pinker than usual, but his blue eyes were very bright.  "It is the discomfort engendered by unfulfilled impulses," he said; his voice sounded thick and tight.

"Unfulfilled impulses, eh?"  Taiba moved her hips again, so that his cock slid a scarce inch or so within her.  She felt the great muscles beneath her tense, and his eyes flashed.  "I don’t think that's quite fair – here you've helped me find joy, and you've got none."  She flexed her hips, and the knight's eyes fluttered shut; he let out a gust of breath.  "So I think it's your turn to find joy now."

His eyes opened; they were very focused, studying her intently.  "If thou desirest it of me only – "

"I want to watch you come," she said carefully, steeling herself.  "But I want you on top.  Roll me over."

He saw the shuttered look in her eyes and frowned.  "I do not wish to hurt thee."

"I don't think you can," she said honestly, and bent down to kiss him.  "Come on."  She moved her hips, tightening her grip on him with her thighs.  "If the Murgos didn't break me, I don't think you will.  And I want to feel how different it is with you on top of me."  When he hesitated, torn between excitement and reluctance, she made an impatient noise, grabbed his broad shoulders, and tried to roll him over herself.

He was a good bit heavier than she, and much stronger.  He could have resisted her, but decided capitulation to her whims was better than to frustrate her by refusing her.  Anyway it was stimulating just to have a woman tell him that she wanted to watch him climax – he could never remember hearing any woman ever say that to him; most of the time they were only waiting for him to finish so they could get paid.  So he untangled himself from her limbs and rolled onto his hip, facing her where she'd fallen off of him.  

His cock slid out of her and lay, glistening and wet, against her stomach.  She pushed her body up next to his, rubbing her breasts back and forth across his chest, liking the tickle of his chest hair against her nipples as they puckered and hardened.  "Touch me," she said, and, never one to refuse a lady's request, Mandorallen complied, covering one breast with his hand and lightly drawing his fingers down toward the nipple.

She sighed and closed her eyes; he pushed her gently onto her back and propped himself up on his elbow, regarding her.  One hand stroked the breast, rolled and pinched the nipple, kneaded the full fleshy globe and ran the thumb over the dark brown peak.  She arched her back, inviting him to continue.  It felt good, the squeezing and pressing; it made the tickle between her legs intensify, it made her very aware of her body, how it curved and writhed and stretched beside him, how their skin touched.  She pressed her thighs together, feeling the moisture in her trickle out, warm and wet, and then she felt his mouth on her.

She jumped and gasped; men had touched her breasts before, had pinched and squeezed and bitten them, but not since her baby girls had been taken from her had she felt lips surround her nipple, warm, engulfing the aureole, suckling it into the hot cavern of a questing mouth, and then it had never felt like this – the scrape of teeth along the underside, the flick of the tongue over it – another wave of warmth coursed through her, and she arced up into him, lacing her hands in his tangled hair and pressing his face against her breasts.

He moved over her, swallowing her other nipple and pushing up against her hip with his cock.  He wanted to remind her that he was still there, still waiting to be pleasured; he would help her find joy again, but a portion of that joy belonged to him too.  To his gratification she gyrated back against him, causing sparks to dance before his eyes with her movement.  Unthinking he slid one hand down her torso, lingered for a moment on the warm dent of her navel, then parted her lips with one finger and found her clitoris.

She bucked up into his hand, making a mewling noise back in her throat.  Suddenly thinking he'd frightened her, he pulled away, putting his hand back on his hip and releasing her nipple from his mouth.  She lay beneath him, half-curled around his leg, her arms akimbo, hands opening and shutting frenetically, and she was breathing very fast.  She opened her eyes and looked up at him in exasperation.

"Don't stop THERE!" she said, her voice tight.  With a relieved groan he found her other nipple, suckling it into his mouth and relishing the deep throaty moan she gave.  He tentatively trailed his fingers down her stomach again, reassured when she arched her hips up to meet them, and once again slid his fingers into her.

She was wet, and very hot; it seemed wherever he touched her, whether it were hard or gentle, the smooth wriggling body beneath him pulsed and squirmed, trying to press him further inward.  He curved two fingers up inside of her and found her nub with his thumb, pressing and circling.  She gave another harsh groan, and pushed her hips up off the coverlet, seeking more contact.  "Oh, Mara," she whispered, and he felt her clench around his fingers.

"Say my name," he said to her breast.  It was jiggling with her gyrations, undulating beneath his lips.  He began to plunge his fingers in and out, and pressed down harder on her clitoris.

"Oh – "

"My name – say my name, Taiba."  He quickened his pace, matching her agitated thrusting; his ear against her chest could hear the hammering of her heart, and her breath was harsh and uneven on his scalp.

Hearing him voice the only thing that truly belonged to her enflamed her. Her voice rose in ascending cries, and she began to pant heavily.  "Taiba," he muttered, pressing his groin against her surging hip.  He heard her say, "Man – M – m – man – "

"Yes – "  He circled her nipple with his tongue, pulled it into his mouth and lightly pressed his teeth on it.  She gave a squeal, feeling as though lightning were coursing through her, from her breasts to her groin to her head.  His name, she had to say his name --   
            "Man – Mandorallen – "

"Ah," he breathed; the hot air gusted over her breast, and the world came undone around her.  The lightning pierced her clitoris and flared up around her torso, igniting every nerve in her body; she gave another gasp – "Mandorallen!" – and her hips dropped to the bolster, her legs drained of strength.  She gave a great dragging breath; her lungs were burning, and her head spun.  When she tried to open her eyes, the canopy above her was doing the most bizarre things, wobbling and rippling and turning in circles.  She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head; then realizing Mandorallen still lay unsatisfied beside her she sprang at him and tried to drag him up on top of her.

His body was tense, taut as a drawn bow; his sticky hands were all over her, and his mouth tasted her everywhere, her collarbone, her ear, her forehead.  She could feel him trembling, and the hot hard head of his cock was nearly purple, and oozing a white viscous liquid.  "Mandorallen," she whimpered, wrapping her legs around his hips and trying to pull him into her.  "Now.  In me.  Now."

"Oh, Chaldan," he groaned, and shifted his big body over her, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of her chest.  His hips found hers, rubbing, seeking; she could feel the stiff shaft poke, prod, trying to find her. 

He was burning, swelling, bursting; every nerve flashed sparks and he could barely see.  There was a thrumming in his ears, a pushing heaviness behind his eyes; his vision tunneled, he could see only her, the flushed and sweating face, the dark glittering eyes, the tumbled tangled hair.  He felt rough coarse fuzz against his cock and withdrew; when her little hand encircled it he nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact.  She flexed her knees, tipping her hips forward, and guided him in, and with a glad growl he thrust inside her.

If she had thought her pleasure was great when she rode him, she was soon disabused of this as he moved over her.  She locked her ankles around his broad back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and held on for dear life.

Deprived and teased for so long, he was pulled to breaking-point.  He tucked his face in the crook of her neck and abandoned himself to the primitive impetus of rhythm and release.  He was not even aware of the loud cries he was making, nor of her answering keening; all he knew was the in-and-out stroke on his cock bringing him to the brink, teetering on the edge.  The passage about him flexed and pulsed, and that was enough; he found tongue and sense enough to cry:  "Taiba!" before he came, and that was sufficient to awaken him to her position.  He withdrew, slapped his slick and trembling penis against her soft belly, and with two more thrusts released a great quantity of seed, warm and glutinous, over her stomach.  Then the light left his eyes and the rocking, swaying world seemed to slow down enough for him to catch his breath.

The roaring in his ears subsided, and the swaying canopy curtains gradually stilled.  The fire cracked and hissed, and the warm soft body beneath him stirred.  Mandorallen pushed himself up on his elbows, blearily looking down at the Marag whose limbs were wrapped so tightly about him.  Her dark eyes were hooded, weary, sated.  Her hair in wild disarray twined an ebony halo on the pillows beneath them, and he could see his own dark coils dangling over his shoulders and tickling her breasts.  He smiled, and she answered him, curling and flexing her body as his cock softened in the soft sticky mess on her belly.

"We both found our joy," she murmured, touching his lips with her fingers.  Unable to contain his exhaustion, Mandorallen settled down between her legs and gave up the struggle, letting his lids slide closed, listening to the slowing thump of her heart.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

 

 

"And when thou sittest upon the chair to which thou hast been directed, thy knees shall be pressed together and thine ankles crossed – "

"Like this, you mean?  Doesn't seem very comfortable."

"Yes, precisely; and thou shouldst comport thyself with decorum and propriety, showing to the world a countenance winsome and modest – "

Taiba cocked her head charmingly to one side, eyes wide and innocent, and pouted her full red lips; she fluttered her lashes alluringly, and Mandorallen laughed.

"Hard to be modest when you're not wearing anything," said Taiba.  "Let's pretend I'm wearing some grand gown, all right?  But no corset – I'll never wear one of those damned things again."

"Thou needest it not; in truth I feel it impedes the beauty of thy carriage somewhat," said Mandorallen with a smile, one hand skimming the curve of her back.  "So we have decided, thou art clothed in raiment of marvelous nature – "

"Red, I've always loved red."

"Red, then, and art seated to table in some grand lady's house, and she sayeth unto thee, 'Lady Taiba, wilt thou select from this platter a sweetmeat?' "

"What," asked Taiba, "is a sweetmeat?  It sounds vile."

"It is a small pastry, with icing and fruit."

"Icing?  Is it sweet as strawberries?"

"Sweeter than strawberries; it is sweet as sugar, and flavored with sundry things, as mint, or anise-seed."

"Is it sweet as your lips?"

"Much sweeter, I am sure, though I believe thine own lips rival it greatly."

"Oh, I'm sure yours are just as sweet."

There was a pause, while Taiba and Mandorallen explored potential icing flavors in each others' mouths.  After a moment Taiba said:

"I imagine it would be a little awkward having tea in this lady's house, with your hand between my legs."

"My hand would not be between thy legs, wert thou sitting in the proper fashion.  For the purpose of verisimilitude I shall remove it."

"Hm.  That's not nearly so much fun."

"No?"  Slyly Mandorallen placed his index finger, which only recently had been someplace it would not have ventured during an Arendish tea party, in his mouth, and sucked off her flavor, his eyes fixed on hers.  She watched him avidly, her mouth watering.  "Ah," he said, sliding his finger out from between his lips.  "Not so sweet as sugar, perhaps, but a far more complex and enjoyable essence."

"Well, you can stir that into your tea, then," she said; her voice had grown a little unsteady during his display.  He grinned.

"Wouldst that not throw the hostess into a veritable attack of affronted dignity!  Indeed I can almost see her frothing at the mouth."

"From having your finger up inside me, you mean?" she laughed.  Mandorallen raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a look of mock-disapproval.

"No, in the tea cup; it is highly improper to stir one's tea with any implement save a tea spoon, my lady."

Taiba burst out laughing and flung her arms around Mandorallen's neck.  This placed her in the fortunate position of having her knees on either side of his hips.  She kissed him enthusiastically, thrusting her tongue in his mouth; he tasted subtly different.  She withdrew and said, her voice a little diffident:  "I tasted myself."

"Didst thou indeed?"  Mandorallen smiled and ran his hands up and down her back, curving round her full buttocks and squeezing.  "And what thinkest thou of thine essence?  Though I have yet to taste it fully, I find its tang most alluring."

She sat back on his legs and ran her fingers through his chest hair, biting her lip, unable to meet his eyes.  She could not imagine any man willingly subjecting himself to that.  It seemed so dirty, though she'd been forced to pleasure men with her mouth before, and knew they took great satisfaction from it.  Would it be the same for her?  Well, there was only one way to find out, and so far Mandorallen had proved himself to be most accommodating …

"I've heard women talk about men who do that, but no one's ever done that to me," she said; her rich voice had a definite pout to it.  Mandorallen tightened his grip on her hips and she looked up at him through her lashes coyly; he laughed.

"I believe thou art suggesting I do something highly improper, Taiba," he said, his voice a little husky.  She noticed the pale blue of his eyes was darkening, and looked down at his lap, where his cock lay, half-erect and twitching, though it had only been a little while since their coupling.  She had thought he was going to fall asleep – at first he looked as though he were trying to – but within a scant minute he had sat up, eyes bright, tongue bandying flirtatious words with her and hands tickling, stroking, exploring. 

Delighted to think he might be up for another round, Taiba had responded, coyly though, testing her newfound courage, teasing him with tempting touches of her skin, her sidelong glances, her pert replies.  For himself Mandorallen seemed to react to this with pleasure, watching her, alert, aware of her burgeoning arousal, waiting for a cue to begin again.  Now, it appeared, they had dispensed with their playful banter for a while, and she seemed to be contemplating any further joys he might be able to impart upon her.  As it promised some measure of amusement for himself, he was not averse to this.

Smiling, he slid one hand around her hip to her stomach, then trailed it down, watching her closely.  She held her breath, waiting for the little jolt she knew would go through her abdomen when he touched her.  Sure enough, when his knowing fingers slid past her clitoris and parted her outer lips she gave a little gasp, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders. 

Mandorallen leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers and whispering:  "Wouldst thou ask that of me, that I part thine alabaster thighs with my hands and feast upon thy rich bounty fully?  Indeed I am already faint at the scent of thee, and want only for thine approbation to descend upon thee, to worship at the altar of thy womanliness, and taste thy silken lips in sacred essence drowned."  He flicked the tip of his tongue out to her mouth and at the same time slid one thick finger up inside her; the muscles clenched around it, and with an agitated groan Taiba opened her mouth to his kiss. 

He pulled her close, stroking the inside of her mouth with his tongue, and the inside of her vagina with his finger.  She hitched her hips forward restlessly, seeking deeper penetration, and wound her fingers in his rather disheveled hair.  His mouth left hers and traveled downward, nibbling down the smooth white column of her throat.  She threw her head back, pushing up on her knees with an impatient noise.  Mandorallen's tongue traced her collarbone, flicking in the little dent at the base of her neck, and following the course of her sternum, nuzzling his cheeks between her full heavy breasts.  She pressed his face up against them, feeling the tickling curly hairs teasing her nipples, and gave a happy groan when he took one of her nipples into his mouth, suckling it and flicking it with his tongue until it pebbled up.  To her gratification he didn't neglect the other breast either, and even went so far as to scrape his teeth over the bottom curve of it, sending a delicious thrill through her.

"Oooh, I like that," she breathed, dropping her face into his hair.  She felt him chuckle against her breast, his hot breath warming it.  "Will you really, Mandorallen?  Will you really put your mouth on me down there?"

"I will," he said against her nipple; his voice sounded thick with humor and desire.  "Dost thou not remember, O Taiba, that thou didst ask of me that I shouldst give to thee, and thou shouldst take?  I give this to thee then, that thy passions might be slaked – "  He paused, nibbling down beneath her breast, laying her gently on the bolster; she melted beneath his touch.  " – and thy secret thoughts of me forever colored by the memory I gavest unto thee that which no other man ever cared sufficiently for thee to so give."

"Oh, gods," she sighed, feeling his hands stroke down her hips to her thighs, and his tongue and teeth explore the soft curve of her stomach.  His tongue found her navel and she arced up, giggling breathlessly.  His hands trailed around behind her thighs, his fingers tightening; when he pulled them apart and she felt his hot breath on her lips she gulped and twitched back.

 "You don't have to do this," she said, her voice high with apprehension.  She remembered the musky, acrid taste of a man's cock in her mouth, thrusting brutally against the back of her throat while rough hands held her head still.

The cool wet point of his tongue flicked at her clitoris, and unable to stop herself, she gave a little squeak of surprise.  "Oh, but I do, my lady," Mandorallen said, his breath gusting around the short coarse curls that protected her.  One finger reached up and traced the silver stretch marks beneath her navel, stroking down each one as it lead to her pudenda.  "I didst say unto thee that my joys in surplus should be thine – it is no evil thing to accept a gift, dear Taiba; this is my gift unto thee."  And he put his mouth over her opening, drawing his tongue up the length of the slit.

Her hips twisted, fighting the urge to pull away even as her brain registered with shock the immense flood of pleasure that bloomed inside her.  When the tip of his tongue quivered and probed at her opening, her inner muscles contracted in fear, but the clenching served to push the burgeoning thrill out further, and she was amazed to hear herself give a deep, throaty groan. 

He tongued her, giving great slow laps from her back hole to the stiff hooded clitoris, up and down, feeling her moisture ooze out of her in her excitement so that it mingled with his saliva.  He could taste her, the tangy musky flavor of her sex, and felt his cock harden with anticipation.  Its swollen head brushed against the inside of her calf, trembling and rigid.  He gave a groan deep in his chest, and the vibrations shivered out his mouth across her opening.  With a low cry she bowed up off the bed, pressing herself into his mouth; he drew his tongue one final time up the inside edges of her lips, then fastened his mouth around her reddened clitoris and suckled it.

She bucked, heels scrabbling at the tousled sheets and hands frenetically groping for purchase on the bolster.  He began to flick her, rapidly, and slid two fingers of one hand up inside of her, curling them upward and pressing lightly.  She gave a strangled shriek and bucked again, arching so that her buttocks were raised completely off the bed.  Her whole body quivered and felt tight, stretched and clenched. 

Holding her firmly in place with his other hand, grasping her by the buttocks and suspending her against his mouth, he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of her, slowly, while his tongue worked her nub, faster and faster until she stiffened, threw her arms over her head and grasped at the headboard desperately, head bowed back and torso thrust upward, willing the horrible, delightful sensitivity to numb, or explode, or continue – she wasn't sure which – when Mandorallen felt her inner muscles clamp down over his fingers he pushed his face up harder against her, and her whole body convulsed, her feet flying up off the bed.  Fortunately he was very strong, and held her up against him, lowering her down carefully while still whipping her with the tip of his tongue.

She gave a series of rising shrieks, her hips flailing; at last when he rested her buttocks back on the sheets her legs unwound from his back, and her fingers loosened from around the headboard.  Still with tremors coursing through her she twitched and moaned, panting heavily.  Mandorallen gave her tender clitoris one last swipe, smiling when her weary hips bucked up in spite of themselves, and crawled up the length of her, very aware of his own stiff and unfulfilled member where it quivered against her hip.

Taiba's breath heaved in and out her open mouth, her breasts swelling and falling and her eyes screwed shut; her whole body felt at once heavy and weightless, surging and flexing with fire yet sunk deep in some listless torpor.  She felt fingers on her, light, teasing fingers tracing circles round her navel and nipples, following the line of her ribcage, describing a pattern from her sternum to her throat. 

"I really ought to open my eyes," she thought over and over; "I'm sure he's waiting for me to say something."  But her eyes remained shut, though red and orange fairy-lights flared behind her lids, and her tongue was numb, unable to articulate any speech save a few dying whimpers.  After a few moments she grew aware of a hot, hard, familiar object pulsating against the soft skin of her hip.  She knew what THAT was, and thought resignedly to herself she might as well return the favor he'd just bestowed upon her. It was only right, after all; he had performed a marvelous and selfless act, and deserved the same pleasure … now, if only she could get her arms to move …

Soft wet lips touched the side of her breast, and she felt his hand in her hair, stroking it back from her forehead.  The bed moved as he shifted, and she could feel his chest up against her own, hard, hairy, masculine.  A head rested on her shoulder, and long fragrant curls tickled her breasts, her arm, her cheek.  A heavy muscular arm draped itself across her body, and a thick leg pressed up against hers.  He seemed to sag into the bed then, cautious, careful, not wanting to frighten her, but craving contact.  She knew she ought to react somehow – to be afraid, or apprehensive, or resentful of the great manly weight – but to her surprise she was not afraid.  Even when she felt his hard cock compressed between his hips and hers, even when she knew his strong arm had her effectively pinned to the bolster, she realized she trusted him, and believed beyond a shadow of a doubt he would never do anything to harm her.

With that thought came a feeling of culpability, and she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and said with a shaking voice:

"Now – lie back – and I'll do it to you."

He heard the tight misgiving in her tone, and stiffened.  He had no desire to make her suffer what men had forced upon her in the dark, despite how his body thrummed and thrilled at the thought.  Thinking of the many brutal ways a man could violate a woman made him come into sharp sympathy with Hettar, and his unthinking hatred of Murgos.  He would gladly follow the horse lord across the plains of Algaria to chase back the hordes of Taur Urgas, chastising them in proxy for what their brothers had done to Taiba.  Instead he undulated against her, so that she could feel how hard and ready he was for her; he said, "No, dear Taiba, that is not what I agreed to do for thee."

"What do you mean?" she asked.  She pulled her arms down, feeling the weak trembling in her joints; one arm curled around his head, pressing it against her breast; the other she draped across his own arm as it lay on her torso.  "I thought you would want – "

"What I want," said Mandorallen, raising himself on one elbow and looking down at her, still flushed and panting from her orgasm, "is to bring thee more joy – more pleasure, my lady; we have but this one night, and it is fast waning – do not make me to waste my seed in thy mouth; that shall avail thee nothing."  He moved his hips so that the skin around his cock pulled against her leg; the sensation caused his eyes to unfocus a little.  "Wouldst thou not rather have me to sheathe myself in thee, and so bring unto thee one or two more joys, before I am spent wholly?  For I am but a man, and a weary and hard-traveled one at that, and am unlikely to last 'til dawn."

"Well," said Taiba slowly, ruffling her fingertips in the thick thatch of hair between his nipples.  "I suppose – when you put it that way – it would be more – prudent."  She felt his hand move, the palm circling her breast, her side, her hip, and contemplated which method would be the most efficacious at bringing them the greatest pleasure.  "Do you want to be on top, or me?"

"Ah!"  Mandorallen smiled down at her, one long dark tendril adhered to his sweating cheek.  "I have a better plan for us, Taiba."  He sat up away from her, folding his legs beneath him; his cock stood like a sentry at his stomach.  "Come, straddle me here," he said, patting his thighs lightly with his palms, and looking at her with a darkly mischievous expression on his face.  "Thou hast learnt to ride a horse passing fair – now I shall teach thee how to ride a knight."

Taiba gave a shout of laughter at the thought, but her excitement burgeoned within her once more.  Pulling her trembling body up she moved forward, bracing herself on his shoulders, and raised up on her knees, carefully lifting her legs so that they were over his own.  This brought her breasts, swinging and shifting, into Mandorallen's line of sight, and she was delightfully distracted by the feel of his mouth on them, his tongue tracing the aureoles, nipping them lightly and soothing the sting with his kisses.  She paused, loving the feeling of his lips and tongue, and when he drew one nipple into his mouth to suckle it, she tightened her hands in his hair and pressed up against him.

She felt the tip of his penis lightly brush her entrance, and he twitched.  Smiling to herself she moved again, so that the dusky head of his cock flicked back and forth across the surface of her lower lips.  The mouth surrounding one of her breasts gave an agitated groan, which sent the most delicious, provoking thrumming feeling through her.  She was delighted by the knowledge that his pleasure could be hers as well.  She lowered her face to his ear, burying her nose in the twisty black coils.  "Now what?" she whispered, amused to hear her voice was shaking and uneven.

He looked up at her; his eyes were compliant, pleading.  This made her feel taller, stronger, more dominant than he, positioned as she was above him, as though she held the fulfillment of his desires in the palm of her hand.  "Take me, Taiba," he murmured against her collarbone, closing his eyes. 

Heart hammering, and her mind soaring with the assurance of this fleeting power, she found his cock with her hand, pressed it up against her wet slit, and lowering her knees enveloped it.

She could feel the big muscular body tense, and his back arched, pushing into her further.  Her passage thrummed, and she could feel his pubic bone pressing against the top of her lips, where that very sensitive bundle of nerves quivered.  She pushed forward, grinding herself against him and feeling the stabbing pleasure lance through her.  Beneath her thighs she felt him pulse upward, and his big hands surrounded her buttocks, one on each globe.  Dragging in one deep harsh breath she raised herself on her knees, then slid down again, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

Mandorallen tucked his face beneath her chin, watching her move over him with hooded eyes.  He watched her breasts swing and bounce as she moved, and he could see himself, long and dusky, sliding in and out between her wet pink lips, could see the muscles in her legs clench and release as she rose up and down over him, posting as though on a trotting steed.  "A fast learner indeed," he moaned into her neck; she gave a breathless laugh, and laced shaky fingers in his hair.

"I'm – doing – well?" she panted, feeling the rousing thrill quickening within her.  His hands contracted around her buttocks spasmodically and he shuddered.

"Oh, Chaldan," he groaned; her slow, even pace was driving him mad.  "Yes, thou art – kindling such – such a flame of ardor in me that I – I – "  He gave a strangled moan when she pushed down especially hard and ground up against him; Taiba laughed breathlessly.  Her own nerves were humming with excitement, and she felt as though her body were flayed open and lay tingling and throbbing, wrapped around his member. 

He jolted upward and she gave a sharp cry, feeling her excitement heighten, and enthusiastically increased her tempo.  One of his hands groped up her waist, found her breast and shakily pushed it up into his eager mouth, worrying the nipple.  This triggered such a flare of exhilaration in her belly that she gave an agitated cry and in her unrest stopped her pulse, instead bearing down upon him and compressing their hips together, desperately trying to stimulate herself against him and complete the explosion that he had ignited in her. 

Recognizing her baffled anticipation, he curled his one hand around one globe of her buttocks, squeezing into the seam hard, while reaching down with the other and pushing his fingers between them, rubbing her nub firmly.  That broke her; she nearly came apart in his arms, her limbs staggering out from their bodies, her head thrown back and her shoulders curled forward.  He felt her clench around him, but though the feeling made him answer her throaty yell with a muffled groan of his own, his rhythm had broken and he could almost feel his impending orgasm recede.

 At once disappointed and eager, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close while she quivered and moaned against him, and brushed his face against her breasts, nudging and mouthing them until she came to herself again, and relaxed on his hips with a delirious sigh.

            "Oh, oh, oh," she groaned, and moved her legs, which had unaccountably straightened out behind him.  As he seemed to be doing well enough on his own, moving and thrusting beneath her, she wrapped them around his back, compressing their hips and eliciting another shivery throb deep within herself.  The big body beneath her shuddered, and the lips latched on her nipple opened and moaned.  She felt his tongue, wet and hot, circle the nipple, and burying her hands in the dark tangled mass of his hair she arched her back.

She rode him, though the pulse was his own now, a burgeoning heat spreading within her.  When his pace quickened and he abandoned her breasts, resting his forehead against her collarbone, she knew he was close.  His breath was ragged and hoarse on her skin, and his fingers were twitching and gripping her spasmodically, first her back, then her hip. 

He could feel it within himself, rising and quaking and seeking egress.  The relentless jolting pace increased with his agitation, and soon all he could think of was the sucking sound of their wet skin together, the heady smell of their scents commingled, the escalating shockwave coalescing, and then everything seemed to go black – then burst – he desperately tried to withdraw so that he wouldn't come inside her, but she anticipated this and pushed down almost brutally, squeezing his explosion out of him.  Heedless of his own cries he lurched and heaved inside her, his sacs emptying themselves as though they'd been compressed, bursting, erupting in such a torrent of paroxysms she came with a startled gasp, her womb contracting and her knees jerking back, flooded in a sudden ecstatic warmth.  They shuddered together once more, she whimpering into his hair and he moaning against her throat, and then, when the fire finally receded, the strength left them both and Mandorallen collapsed onto his back, Taiba went down with him, limply lying across his heaving chest, her limbs like water.

The sudden absence of their wordless voices, the slap of flesh against flesh and the susurration of cloth, seemed deafening in its silence, and they lay still, letting the pounding of their hearts slow in their ears, and feeling the prickle of air on their damp and cooling skin.  Mandorallen felt himself grow soft and limp inside her, and when he shifted his hips, trying to find a position that didn't make his back ache, he could feel the warm, sticky residue dribble down his sacs as he slid out of her. 

With a mortified thud, he realized what he'd done, discharging within her in the throes of his passion, and putting her expectations, already weak, at even greater risk.  He couldn't help it, he automatically argued with his stinging conscience; she wouldn't let him pull out –

Taiba sighed and stretched luxuriantly above him, all lush curves and warm giving flesh, and Mandorallen tightened his hold on her.  Well, it wouldn't be so bad, he thought, nuzzling into her thick fragrant hair and feeling her nestle down comfortably into his embrace.  She was attractive, and an engaging companion … with a rather fuzzy leap he began to wonder what a child of theirs might look like, whether he – or she – would have dark or pale eyes, seeing already in his mind's eye the tiny dimpled thing, pink-cheeked, dark-haired, squalling and cooing in its mother's arms.  He would marry her, shunting aside his desire for another man's wife, seeking to smother her unrequited longing for someone else, bring her to his keep at Mandor and clothing her in the richest, costliest, reddest gowns he could buy …

But he knew, quixotic romantic though he might be, how unhappy this would make them.  The prim ladies of Mimbre would not accept this wild, untamed woman, with her loud belly-laugh and blatant sensuality, and she would be hemmed in, tied down, trapped in a social standing as confining as her corset, unable to breathe properly, sulky, resentful of him and his customs and his peers.

And the child itself – he knew all too well the terrible, disgraceful stigma of being a bastard, how even after his parents' marriage the title held firm sway, mocking his standing as the Perfect Knight.  The Bastard of Vo Mandor.  Would there be another one, then?  Would he continue the line of ignominy, further tarnishing the House of Mandor, with not only another bastard, but a half-breed one at that?  He closed his eyes over the sudden stinging tears, and wondered what on earth he was to do.

Taiba, not even following his train of thought, was only contemplating the thick down coverlet and thinking that they should crawl beneath it before they got cold.  She slid off of him, still hooked in the bend of his arm, and grappled weakly with the heavy quilt, finally managing to pull its excess length up off the side of the bed and fold it over them.  Nestling down into his shoulder she wriggled up against him, relishing the feel of his warm skin on hers, and the tickle of chest hair beneath her hands.  The coverlet was silky and soft and its weight was warm and comforting. 

Altogether her senses were quite satisfied, both within and without, and expecting her companion to be as contented, she was therefore a little startled when she looked up at him, and saw a look of distress on his face.  "What is it?" she asked, raising herself on her elbow and looking down at him in surprise.  Surely their coupling hadn't displeased him?  He had seemed to be enjoying himself …

Mandorallen took a deep breath, and reached up one hand to tenderly cup her cheek.  "O Taiba," he said, his voice throbbing with regret.  "I have discharged into thee, and put thee at risk of humiliation and disgrace, for should our union bear fruit I fear thou shalt suffer the greater part of it, and I am dismayed, for I know not how to undo this thing that I have done unto thee."  His eyes filled with tears.  "Gladly would I take thee unto mine own home, though this would surely be at odds with our own secret wishes, and – "

"Oh, Mandorallen, don't go borrowing trouble," interrupted Taiba with a startled laugh.  "And don't ruin my memories of this wonderful night by getting all sentimental!"  She leaned over him, kissing him soundly, practically prying his lips apart with her tongue until they softened beneath her.  When she withdrew he was looking up at her, puzzled; she laughed again and burrowed her face into his thick black curls, throwing her arms impulsively around his neck. 

"I'm not going to have a baby," she said confidently.  "I know the rhythm of my own body by now.  There's no risk – I would've told you before you pulled out of me the first time," she added, raising her head and grinning down at his face, upon which a look of profound relief was growing.  "But I was a little – " she nipped the tip of his nose " – distracted."

Mandorallen pulled her up onto his chest, framing her exquisite face in his hands, his eyes hopeful.  "So there is no chance – "

"No," she said, leaning down and kissing him again.  "But thanks for the offer," she added playfully, tracing the outline of his lips with her finger.  "Very generous of you, though you know it wouldn't work – us being together." 

A shadow crossed her face, and she settled down thoughtfully into his embrace, fingers absently toying with an errant tendril of hair.  Mandorallen hesitated, once again feeling as though his previous assumptions about what women thought and desired were being turned on their heads.  He had to keep reminding himself that, with Taiba, all rules were suspended. 

He slid his hands into her hair, twisting the thick silky strands around his fingers.  Released of thoughts of imminent fatherhood and the panic that had engendered, he felt himself relax.  It was very nice to lie here with a soft warm woman in his arms, to let the buzzing hum of his orgasm fade.  He looked into her face, saw the pensive unhappiness that lay behind her dark eyes that no promise of his could fully dispel, and sighed, tipped her head forward to his, and kissed her softly.  She responded, languid, relaxing against his chest.  He might not be able to completely drive away her discontent, but he could drown it out for a short while.  That was something, at least.

They kissed for some time, not building up any heat or entreaty but simply enjoying the feel and taste of each others' mouths, letting their fingers wander torpidly over cheeks and chins and hair.  At last Mandorallen, realizing his feet were uncomfortably cold, sat up and threw the quilt back over the edge of the bed.  Taiba made a protesting noise, curling up her limbs against the shock of cold air, but Mandorallen lifted her, backed off the bed, and replaced her properly, her head on the pillow, lying on the soft linen sheets.  He climbed in beside her, feeling her wrap herself around him as he dragged the coverlet over them. 

"I ought to stoke the fire," he thought sleepily, slipping his arms around her shoulders and holding her tight.  "It will be cold in here if I do not."  But at the moment he was quite warm, so that he felt he could wait a few minutes.  He closed his eyes, nuzzling his face into her fragrant hair, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

 

 


	5. 5

**5.**

 

 

"Mandorallen!  Ho, Mandorallen!"  
            The knight sat up abruptly, his head spinning with the sudden movement.  His room was bright, drenched in sunlight.  Someone had opened the shutters, and a fresh cool breeze was fluttering the canopy sheets and setting the tapestries thumping against the walls. 

He squinted, and put a tentative hand on his head.  His hair felt frizzy and matted, and he had a headache – the slightest pinching between his eyes, the evidence of too much wine and too little discretion.  Blinking around the room he saw Barak, ruddy and booming, laughing and shaking his big four-poster like it was a box of matches; Silk stalked around the room, his nose twitching, a look of mischief on his face; Durnik was there too, and Hettar; then Mandorallen realized two things:  He was supposed to have risen at dawn to go riding with his friends that morning, and Taiba was gone.

He looked around a little wildly, half-expecting her to be there, huddled beneath the covers, hiding from discovery, but beside his own naked body the bed was empty. The covers were a tad more rumpled than one would have expected from one lone knight sleeping therein, but other than that there appeared to be no evidence she had even been there.  Relaxing a little, Mandorallen smiled at Barak, who when he saw the Mimbrate realized at last who he was stopped shaking the bed and gave a loud laugh.

"Finally!" he bellowed, sitting down on the foot of the bed, causing it to creak alarmingly beneath his weight.  "About time you got up, you slug-a-bed."

"Had a tad too much wine last night, didn't you, my splendid friend?" asked Silk from the sideboard.  He turned, the empty decanter in his hand, his eyes dancing mischievously.  "No wonder you overslept!  Feeling a little delicate, perchance?"  He sauntered easily up to Mandorallen, grinning, his eyes squinting maliciously down at the knight.  "Bit of a headache, maybe?  Feel as though your tongue was coated in old wool?"  He laughed and clapped Mandorallen on the shoulder.  "You look a little bleary-eyed."

Mandorallen looked at Durnik and Hettar; they were both standing at the mantle, arms folded, smiling tolerantly at him.  Hesitantly he smiled back.

"I do confess to feeling a touch of the old complaint this morn," he said, forcing his voice to sound chagrined.  "Perchance in my relief I imbibed too deeply, and by recompense did slumber overlong."

"I'll say," grinned Durnik.  "Dawn was hours ago." 

Hettar just grunted.

"I apologize, my friends," said Mandorallen, trying to run his fingers through his disheveled hair, and throwing his covers aside.  "I shall attempt to rectify this forthwith, and join thee in the stables, if thou wilt give me but a moment to collect my things."

"Here," said Hettar shortly, throwing a bundle to him.  Mandorallen caught it and turned it over in his hands.  To his relief he saw it was the clothing that the servant had taken from him last night, cleaned, dried, and folded.

"My thanks, friend," he said gratefully, smiling up at the taciturn Algar.  "Without these I should have been constrained to ride in naught but my skin."

"I wonder what he was planning on wearing?" asked Silk, raising his eyebrows and giving Barak, Durnik, and Hettar an innocent look.  "His lovely scarlet bathrobe, perhaps?  That would have looked absolutely stunning on horseback, Mandorallen, especially during full gallop – can't you just see it streaming back from his shoulders?"

Barak and Durnik laughed, and Hettar smiled.  Mandorallen chuckled good-naturedly and shook out his clothes, locating his underlinens and pulling them on. 

Barak, Durnik, and Hettar were content to sit quietly and wait, but Silk, ever curious, was poking round the room, long nose twitching, and making comments over the desultory chatter of the other men:  "Hm, Arendish tapestries – that's Silar for you, always wants people to feel at home – bed looks Tolnedran, though – distinctive wheat-sheaf pattern on the posts – oh, gilt toiletry bottles; bet they're Rivan – " 

This went on for some moments, while Mandorallen fumbled about fuzzily with his clothes and the other men talked, but then Silk's sharp eyes lit upon a rolled bundle by the armchair, and he pounced with a triumphant cry.

"Oh-ho!" he said, his eyes sparkling with impishness.  "Look at this, friends!  Now we know why Mandorallen couldn't find the energy to get out of bed this morning!"

To the knight's horror, Silk held up Taiba's corset, still wound about with linen tape; he shook it out, revealing to the others what sort of garment it was, and what its presence entailed.  It even mocked the memory of Taiba's outline, with the full bust still stiffly standing out from where her breasts had molded it, and the tapered waist denoting its wearer had been rather more shapely than thin. 

Barak whooped with laughter, pounding his fist on his thigh, and even Hettar gave a short sharp bark; Durnik however looked sternly disapproving, and he blushed a little. 

"Who was it, Baron?" asked Silk, grinning at the white-faced Mimbrate and holding the corset playfully up to his own torso.  "Which pretty girl did you manage to lure back to your chambers last night?"

"And you said you were tired and wanted to go to bed, you sly dog!" roared Barak, slapping Mandorallen so hard on his shoulder he nearly fell over.  "Now we know what you were up to – lucky bastard!"

"Clever," said Hettar, and flashed one of his rare smiles at Mandorallen.  "Was it Nalara?  I saw her looking at you during the evening meal and thought she fancied you."

"I don't see it's any of our business," said Durnik stiffly, his Sendar propriety sticking out in prickles and bumps all over his body.  "If Mandorallen chooses to comport himself with such immodesty – "

"Oh, never mind that, Durnik," said Barak dismissively, folding his huge arms over his chest.  "Well, Mandorallen?  Come along, now, tell us … who was she?"

" 'Twould be boorish to divulge the name of one who came to me in secret," said Mandorallen, trying to sound offended but in truth feeling horribly sick.  "I should not betray the promise of my discretion unto her for anything."  With shaking hands he pulled up his breeches, hoping his friends would mistake his trembling for anger, or the after-affects of the wine.  Silk with a grin began poking about the room some more, seeking out some other clues.

"Two wine glasses used," he said to the others; "so it wasn't Mandorallen drank all that wine – plying a poor girl with drink; for shame, Baron!" 

Barak laughed, but Durnik looked even more sternly disapproving than before, and Mandorallen with a shamefaced glance at the smith hurriedly laced his breeches and reached for his linen shirt.  "Two chairs pushed up to the fire – so you romanced her with clever conversation, did you?  And let's see, here's your robe, discarded rather cavalierly on the floor – don't treat King Cho-Hag's effects with much respect, do you?  Well, perhaps your mind was on other things."  He grinned wickedly at the knight, who was blushing furiously while buttoning his shirt.  "Your bed's in disarray too – look at this, sheets and counterpane all twisted up – Belar, but you must have been rather athletic!"

"Enough, Kheldar," muttered Mandorallen, his face scarlet.

"Yes, enough," agreed Durnik.  He watched Mandorallen pull his blue doublet on and start fastening the brass buttons, a disapproving look on his plain honest face.  "We don't really need to know, do we?"

"Oh, well," said Barak with a subterranean chuckle, "better not to, I guess – leaves us married men feeling all deprived and lonely."

"Not just the married ones," said Durnik, and blushed again when Hettar and Silk laughed.  He threw a quick glance at Mandorallen, who gave him a sympathetic smile.  No; he couldn't imagine Durnik seeking out some willing maid and luring her back to his bedchambers … he was far too modest and respectable.  And if Durnik ever got wind he'd slept with Taiba – he shuddered, imagining the bristling vituperation he'd receive from the smith, and finished buttoning his doublet.  Knowing Durnik's attitude toward a dalliance with some free-spirited Algar lady, he did not think the Sendar would countenance his sleeping with someone as vulnerable as Taiba.  Sitting on the edge of his bed he began to pull on his boots.

"Do you recognize it, Hettar?" asked Silk, throwing the corset to the horse lord with a grin.  "You've been in and out of the Stronghold all your life – surely a corset of this quality should be easy to spot, if you're of the coming-on disposition."

"Which I'm not," said Hettar shortly, glancing at the corset and dropping it back into one of the armchairs, much to Mandorallen's relief.  "It's a corset, looks like every other corset I've ever seen."

"Oh, surely not," scoffed Silk, picking it back up.  His nimble little fingers traced the yellowed brocade and tested the strength of the pearl buttons and metal hooks.  "This is no ordinary corset – it must've cost a pretty penny, you know.  This silk was choice stuff once, and look at the ribbon-ties – woven linen, not cut – very high quality.  Someone of means had this made for her."

"And art thou our resident expert on ladies' underthings, Prince Kheldar?" asked Mandorallen dryly, lacing his boots and looking up at the Drasnian through his untidy curls.  He would have to try to run a comb through them before venturing out … he ought to have tried to straighten out this mare's nest before sleeping on it, which always seemed to make things worse, but for some strange reason he couldn't even remember falling asleep … the last vision he had of Taiba, curled beside him, flushed and sleepy and smiling, gave him a pleasant inward quiver.  Well … not so strange, at that.  It was not really so surprising he had collapsed from exhaustion after his labors of last night. 

He smiled to himself as the other men laughed at his quip, and Barak gave Silk some chaff about his knowledge concerning what ladies wore beneath their dresses.  "A little too free with maids, matrons, and other men's property," Barak was laughing; and Silk with a smirk didn't argue. 

Mandorallen located his wooden comb and gave his curls an experimental tug, wincing.  He remembered the vigorous, back-and-forth movement of Taiba riding him, the back of his head rubbing against the pillows, and decided in the future he would either get to be on top, or tie his hair back before he commenced.  There was a mat of curls at the base of his skull that took no little effort to untangle, though when he remembered why Taiba had come to him in the first place, struggling with those upper-class linen ties, he grinned a little to himself.

Silk had cast the corset down onto the chair again with a shrug, and looked about the room absently, straightening his doublet.  "Well, as our splendid friend here is going to be reticent about his nighttime companion, and I can't see any other clues as to her identity, I'm afraid I'm stumped," he sighed, a look of mock-disappointment on his face.  "What a pity, too … that would've been a good handle against you with Polgara, Mandorallen.  Can't you imagine?" he grinned at the others.  " 'Polish my boots, Baron; curry my horse, Baron; pick me a posey, Baron – if you don't, I'll tell Polgara about HER.' "  He waggled a remonstrating finger playfully in Mandorallen's face; Durnik blushed but laughed along with Barak. 

"Oh, surely not, Kheldar," said Mandorallen smoothly, tying his curls back with a leather thong and twitching the bedlinens up over the bolster.  "Hadst thou such information to use against me, thou shouldst not waste it upon such paltry things; I am certain thou couldst find some deeper harm to inflict upon me – leaning upon mine exchequer, for example."

Silk burst out laughing, and tucked his hands in the crooks of Durnik's and Barak's elbows, leading them out of the room.  "Perhaps I would, perhaps I would," he conceded, grinning back over his shoulder at Mandorallen and Hettar.  "That would be more in character, wouldn't it?  Well, off to the stable, fellows – we've wasted enough time in Brave Sir Knight's bed chambers."  He swaggered out and down the hall between the two larger men, chuckling to himself.

Mandorallen bit his lip – that had been far too close – and picked up the corset, wound it tight in its linen ribbons, and, giving a rather sheepish look at the impassive Algar who waited for him, stowed it under one of the armchair cushions.  Hettar watched him, face expressionless, but when Mandorallen held the door open for him to leave, the horse lord instead pushed the door closed, shutting out the noise of Silk's playful banter echoing up the corridor.  Mandorallen looked up at him in surprise.  Hettar's face changed, and he frowned.

"Polgara'd chew your sacs off if she knew you'd taken Taiba," he said simply.

It was interesting; Mandorallen could actually feel the blood drain from his face.  "I know," he said; his voice sounded very small.  Feeling the need to justify his actions to the horse-lord he said, a little defensively, "I did not seduce her, my lord Hettar – she camest unto me, in some distress, and I in my compassion for her could not gainsay her."

Hettar looked thoughtfully at the knight, his face softening.  "Hm.  I can see that," he said.  The knot in Mandorallen's chest loosened somewhat, and he took a deep breath.

"Thou didst recognize the stays as thy lady mother's, then?" he ventured carefully.  When Hettar gave a curt nod, Mandorallen added meditatively, "I am exceeding glad, then, that thou madest the correct logical assumption as to its ultimate destination, and didst not accuse me of violating the bond betwixt thy parents."

"Well," said Hettar, his dark eyes sparkling a little, "if that had been the case, there would've been a lot more yelling and shouting, and I'd be going for my sword right about now."

"I applaud your acumen then, my lord, and sincerely hope I fall no further from thy good graces," said Mandorallen, grinning.  Hettar gave a crooked smile.

"Well, I can't really blame you," he said, opening the door at last and venturing out in the hall.  Silk, Barak, and Durnik had already started down the stairs; they could hear Silk's impudent laughter ringing back up the corridor over the echoing thumps of their booted feet.  Hettar lowered his voice.  "She's a fine-looking woman – and if this becomes a permanent arrangement – "

"It shall not," broke Mandorallen in firmly. 

Hettar looked at him, raising his eyebrows in surprise, and Mandorallen turned away. 

"This was naught but a fleeting rendezvous, designed for little else save the relieving of our passions.  We didst speak of it, and madest the decision any permanence would be marred by the secret desires of our own hearts.  We shall not come together again." 

He wondered a little at his voice, which had grown a little husky; it could not possibly be some residual regret – perhaps it was just the dampness of the stone walls affecting his throat.  He glanced up at Hettar, who was regarding him solemnly, and the knight thought he caught in those dark impassive eyes a flicker of pity.  This irritated him; there was nothing in this for which he required pity – had he not experienced a night of indescribable pleasures, with a woman who demanded nothing more of him?  Most men would have been delighted with such an arrangement.  He was delighted with the arrangement.  There was absolutely nothing wrong with it. 

Impatient with himself and with the tightness in his throat, he turned away from the Algar and started down the hallway.  Hettar watched him for a moment, his long thin lips pursed contemplatively.

"Unfortunate," he murmured, and with a shake of his head followed his friend to the stables.


End file.
